Cracked Actor
by KingRewind
Summary: HPDM slash. Harry is a social worker for the Ministry of Magic, helping families cope with finances, housing, and other related things after the war. The Malfoys are no longer one of the wealthiest families in Wizarding Britain, and really, Harry shouldn't be surprised to be looking at a file with their name on it, asking for financial aid. Author's note inside!
1. A Better Future

**A/N: Hello there! Before you begin reading I'd like to say a few things here:**

 **This will be a HP/DM slash, so if you're uninterested in reading that sort of fic, I hope you have better luck finding one that suits you :).**

 **These will be long chapters, but overall a pretty short fic.**

 **Warnings: Some angst, definitely fluff, some drama, some sexual content, adult language, and this fic is an AU after Deathly Hallows, ignoring the epilogue completely. I'm going to do my best to keep the characters similar in personality as they were originally written, but I can't promise 100% in-character behaviour, as circumstances are different now than they would be if I'd included the epilogue. I don't have anyone betaing this story, so please forgive any typos. If you notice any big ones, please point them out to me and I'll do my best to fix them.**

 **That's all for now! Hope you enjoy. Please feel free to leave reviews. I would love to hear what you readers think.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own anything Harry Potter related, I make no money off of this story. I'm only doing it for fun.**

* * *

"Shove it up your arse," was what Harry desperately wanted to say. Instead, he took the papers being offered to him from Monica, his secretary, and said thank you.

"Oh, and you've got a meeting today at━"

Harry closed the door to his office, not bothering to listen to the time of his appointment. She'd told him four times that morning and at least twice as many the day before. Sometimes Harry wondered why he didn't have Kingsley fire the obnoxious woman. It wouldn't be difficult to replace her position, not with the amount of people in need of jobs since the war. Harry popped his jaw hinge in aggravation and sat down. He knew that he wasn't really upset enough to get her fired, no matter how many times she repeated herself, misplaced important documents, or showed up nearly an hour late. That wasn't the sort of person he was.

But it will be the sort of person I am if she tries to make another pass at me, Harry thought as he shuffled through the papers she'd handed him. Harry felt it was insulting and embarrassing that an employee of his should feel it acceptable to resort to sexual harassment in the workplace.

They'd had a single, failed 'date,' if one could call it that, and now Monica assumed she had some sort of chance at love with Harry. He hadn't known that's what she thought it was. As far as he'd known, they were just work-friends going out for a few drinks after a long day's work. It became painfully obvious that she thought it more than that when he'd felt her hand groping for his groin under the bar, however. His first reaction was to grip her hand hard enough to convey a clear warning and shove it away from him. The hurt look on her face at his reaction was no consequence to him, but she was a pushy woman and hadn't taken his refusal seriously. Throughout the evening she became more grabby and, with every drink she consumed, braver and more certain she could convince Harry he wanted her in return. After so long trying to keep out of her reach and failing miserably, Harry had left the bar in a rush, quickly shoving a couple galleons at the bartender before returning home feeling disgusted and ashamed.

What an awful night that was. He could wish it would've ended there, but his wish would remain ungranted; Monica continued to express her desire to be with him during the work day, something Harry resented more than he could say. No matter how many times he told her he wasn't interested in her she would not take him seriously.

Harry realised his eyes had glazed over while he'd been thinking and forced them to focus on the papers in his hands. More victims of the war in need of financial assistance, housing, in-home care, and sometimes childcare. His eyes brushed over the first page. A woman, thirty three, named Hildy Edmonds. Her house was burned down in a Death Eater raid and she required housing.

Harry set her file down in the 'housing' pile on his desk.

The next page was a file on a one hundred seven year-old man named Brutus Worstly━ an unfortunate last name, in Harry's opinion━ who was struggling to do simple daily activities on his own and required in-home care.

Harry set his file in the 'in-home care' pile.

There were several more files much to the same tune as those, none of them catching his eye, none of them out of the ordinary. That is, until Harry came across a file with the name 'Lucius Malfoy.' His eyebrows pinched close together in the middle and his eyes became wide as he read through the paper. Apparently the Malfoys had spent a large sum of money after the war, most of it going towards families who felt personally wronged by Lucius Malfoy during his Death Eater activities, some going toward Ministry repairs, some towards the rebuilding of Hogwarts. Harry had no clue, absolutely none at all, how one of the richest families in British Wizard society today could lose enough money to come crawling to him. Of course, the Malfoys would want to stay out of Azkaban, dementors or no, regardless of the price. They'd lost their good standing in society. How bad was losing their fortune, as long as it kept them from prison?

Shaking his head, Harry got up from his desk. He knew he had a meeting at one, as Monica had reiterated time and again, but he didn't know with whom. As much as he hoped the meeting wasn't with the Malfoys, he couldn't be sure unless he asked. Opening the door to his office, he poked his head outside of it and immediately had Monica's attention.

"Who is the meeting with today?" Harry inquired.

"The Malfoys, of course," Monica said with what she probably thought was a charming smile. "I thought I'd already told you."

"You didn't." Harry scowled and shut the door to his office again. Of course the meeting was with the Malfoys. Harry wasn't allowed to have more than one good day per week, with his job. No, that would only make my life easy, and we can't have that, now can we?

It wasn't wrong of him to hope that the youngest Malfoy wasn't there for the meeting, not after all that had happened between them in school, even if it was a childish hope. Harry was an adult with a career, a house of his own, and friends who loved him. Why should it matter if he had a meeting with the Malfoys? What was this meeting going to change in his life, aside from a couple hours of it being worse than if he'd had a meeting with Mr. Worstly? Nothing. Harry was determined that it would change nothing. He would not let this get to him. There were still two hours to prepare for the meeting anyway.

Sitting back down at his cluttered desk, Harry returned to the files he had been looking through. There were appointments to make, people to Floo, and lunch to have before he had to force himself to be kind to people he couldn't stand. I don't owe them kindness, he told himself. I'll be civil, and that's the most anyone could expect at this point.

* * *

The house was much smaller than the manor. Much, much smaller. Harry couldn't picture the Malfoys living in such a little house, though he hadn't known what to expect when the time came for him to Apparate to the Malfoy's home. There wasn't much time to think on it, however, before he began walking up the short, cobblestone path to the front door. He knocked three times and waited only a few moments before Narcissa Malfoy answered.

"Harry Potter?" she asked. Her face became confused for only a moment before she regained composure over herself. Strangely, standing in the doorway of such a quaint house didn't dim the elegance and importance that emanated from the Malfoy matriarch.

"Yes, I'm here for our meeting. You've requested━"

"Come in," Mrs. Malfoy ordered icily, cutting off his statement about her needing financial assistance from the Ministry.

Harry silenced any remarks he could've made about lacking money and still being proud as he stepped over the threshold. Looking around he never would've assumed that a once-wealthy family like the Malfoys lived here. There were no family photos in frames, as he'd seen in many other homes he'd visited on occasions like this. The furniture was modest, the decorations sparse. It looked a lot more comfortable than the manor had, but Harry had only been there in a situation where his life was at stake, so perhaps he didn't have a very good basis for comparison.

"Thank you for coming," Mrs. Malfoy said, interrupting Harry's thoughts.

"Not at all, it's my job." Narcissa's smile was tight in response.

She led them to a compact drawing room and offered tea, which Harry declined respectfully. Just as Harry was sitting down in an armchair, Lucius Malfoy entered the drawing room, and of course his son stood behind him, peering around his shoulder. Harry stood once more and waited for his two least favorite people to sit before he did again.

"Welcome," said Lucius coldly. Harry wasn't sure if that was his typical tone of voice, or if it was reserved for people he disliked. He didn't intend to find out, but it was a curious thought.

Harry nodded, unsure of a better response. Not wishing to prolong this meeting anymore than he needed to, he got right to the point of his visit. "I'm here as your caseworker. I'd like to discuss your financial aid request. I have some questions I need answered before I can approve or deny your request. Do I have your permission to gather information and to share this information with other Ministry departments, should the need arise?" The look on Mr. Malfoy's face said that the answer to his question was obvious. The question itself stupid, but it was mandatory that Harry ask it anyway.

"Yes," Narcissa answered as she peered down her thin nose at Harry. "We'd be glad to answer your questions, Mr. Potter."

Harry nodded and pulled his briefcase onto his lap, took his wand from his sleeve, then silently unlocked it with several charms. He had the questions memorised by now, but he had been informed that it appeared more friendly if he used the papers as reference, even if he wasn't really reading them.

"Now," Harry said, glancing up from the papers. "What bills are you required to pay at this time, and what are the monthly amounts for each?" It took all Harry had in him not to glare at the youngest Malfoy, but it wouldn't matter if he had. Malfoy was sitting next to his father staring away from Harry as though he weren't even in the room. If only I could be so lucky as to not be here.

"Water, heat, and gas," Narcissa said. If she felt uncomfortable, her expression didn't betray that. "The total cost of the three is one hundred seventy three galleons, four sickles, and twenty eight knuts." Harry blinked. That was rather expensive, for only three bills. He briefly wondered if someone in the billing department of the Ministry was charging them more simply due to who they were. A matter to investigate later, Harry told himself.

"How many people are under your care, financially, and how many are working citizens?" Harry already knew the answers, but it was, again, required that he ask.

"Three," Lucius answered. "And none." Harry had assumed correctly.

"What do you pay in taxes every year, for your home?"

"Six hundred sixty three galleons, eleven sickles, and twenty two knuts."

"And what is the total sum on money in your Gringotts vault?"

Narcissa brought her voice to a whisper and looked at her pale hands. "After selling the manor, what we have left is two hundred thousand, eight hundred three galleons. Some sickles and knuts, but that is all." It took every effort for Harry to refrain from letting his eyes grow large. That was a quarter of what he had in his own vault, and he'd only been adding to his funds for the past year and a half. There was no way they could live off of so little for very long, unless one or all of them started working.

"How much would you say you spend on food every month?" he asked, trying to sound neutral. It shouldn't bother him that the Malfoys were more poor than he was, not after what they'd done. It shouldn't make him feel sorry for them.

"A little over forty galleons."

"What area of your finances are you requesting assistance for?"

"Bills," Narcissa stated simply, haughtily, as though it was beneath her to say anything more than the singular word.

"Er, which bills?" Harry swore he could hear a snort coming from Malfoy's direction, but it was so quiet and short that he couldn't be sure. It wouldn't surprise him if Malfoy did snort at his lack of eloquence. He wasn't raised with pureblood standards of conversation and was often scoffed at because of it.

"The three previously mentioned, of course." Narcissa's laugh was light, tinkling, and innocent, if one didn't examine it too deeply. To Harry it sounded purely condescending, and the irony wasn't lost on him.

"Alright," Harry said, struggling to keep his personal feelings from entering his tone. "Do you understand that it is mandatory for at least one household member to be working in order to be granted financial aid from the Ministry?"

"We understand," Narcissa began, her voice soft once more, "however, no one will hire a Malfoy. We all have tried to find work. We all have failed."

"That's going to be a problem," Harry admitted. "I'm afraid there's no way I can approve your case unless someone is working." The three Malfoys stared at him. Apparently at this news the youngest Malfoy found it possible to acknowledge him.

"Does it not matter that we have attempted to fulfill this requirement?" Lucius asked. The low volume of his voice did not hide the indignation behind it. "Does it not matter that we have been discriminated against?"

It was only the threat of losing his job that kept Harry from asking the questions he felt the urge to. Did they not realise that they had aided in attempted genocide? Did they not realise that they had followed the darkest wizard known to man and caused the deaths of hundreds of people? Instead of causing yet another war in the drawing room, Harry began packing up his papers in his briefcase.

"I'm afraid there's not much I can do for you," he told them grimly as he stood up.

He'd made it as far as the drawing room door before someone caught the arm of his robes and tugged gently. Turning around, Harry was surprised to find Malfoy looking at him with fear in his silver eyes.

"I've heard━ there's been rumours that your department is hiring," Malfoy said in a hushed way, as if he didn't want his parents to know he'd been following gossip. It's more likely he doesn't want them to hear their son begging for employment.

"That's interesting," Harry said, just barely containing his resentment. "I would've thought I'd hear such rumours, if that were the case."

"Please, you don't understand…" Malfoy looked as though he wanted to say more, but Harry waited and nothing more was spoken.

"You're right. I don't understand." Harry tugged his arm away from Malfoy and turned from the look of despair he was given. It wasn't his problem if the Malfoys were destitute, he told himself. It wasn't his fault that they'd chosen the wrong side of the war, and it wasn't his fault that they'd been forced to spend all their money in lawsuits and reparations. Thoughts like this stayed with him until he was safely in his office again, sorting through another pile of files from Monica.

* * *

Harry gritted his teeth. This wasn't the first time his secretary had seated herself on his desk with no regard for the papers she crumpled or workplace behaviour. He could wish it were the last time, but this wasn't grounds for firing.

"So," Monica asked. "How did the meeting go?"

"Is that any business of yours?" he asked rudely. If she was going to ignore common decency, so was he. The hurt look on her face in response to his harsh question was prize enough for him.

"Why, Harry, I'd thought━ after our date━"

"Is that what it was?" Harry feigned confusion. "I was under the impression it was sexual assault. How strange that I could misinterpret something so severely." Monica flushed red and abruptly stood up.

"How can you say something like that?" she whispered.

"Easily, in fact. Leave me, before I change my mind about reporting your actions towards me." Monica left with the air of someone who'd just been smacked across the face. Harry took a deep breath and tried to steady his nerves. The woman was insufferable. He doubted that working with Malfoy as his secretary would be worse than working with her, but then shook the thought out of his head just as soon as it entered. Nothing could be worse than working with Malfoy, though Harry had to admit that being Malfoy's boss would bring about a certain kind of satisfaction.

No, I refuse. Knowing him, he'd just twist things until it seemed as though he was the one with power over me. I won't let him get that chance.

* * *

"Do you understand, Draco, why you'll do this?" Narcissa kept her slitted eyes on Draco, pinning him in his place at the dining table.

"Yes, Mother," Draco replied obediently. His hands were hidden beneath the table cloth, but he still felt as though his mother could see the way his knuckles turned white from clenching his hands.

"You will not beg him. That is below us, no matter how much or how little money we have. You must make him trust you, slowly, over time. How you do so is up to you, but I should like to see a more permanent form of building trust."

"Of course," Draco agreed. "What would you advise me to do, Mother?" Narcissa smiled, the smile of a cat about to capture its prey.

"Do not think me blind. I have seen the way your eyes lit up when you spoke of him during your years of education."

Draco willed his cheeks to stay their normal pale shade as his mother spoke of his most hidden secret. He hadn't thought she knew, but her eyes were like that of a hawk's, able to see through any denial, any pretense he might bring forth should he disagree with her, from miles away. The sharpness in them now told him that well enough. Of course she knows. Draco resigned himself to listening patiently as he silently scolded himself for not having more self control when it came to Potter.

"I have witnessed the difficulty with which you refrained from speaking his name. I am also aware of the possessiveness that is in the Malfoy man's nature━ something you must control in this, a situation so delicate. You will capture his attention, make him seek you out without knowing why. Give no hint that there may be hidden motives behind your efforts."

"Yes, Mother." Draco spoke as calmly as he could, but he felt his mother's disapproval through the single twitch of her index finger towards her wine glass.

She could see the way he restrained himself, it seemed, and wished he were more enthusiastic about the task she had entrusted to him. How could he be? It would be perfect, a literal dream-come-true, for Potter to know of Draco's feelings and return them in kind; however, what his mother was asking him to do would inevitably sour any relationship that would come from his efforts. If his plan━ or her plan, rather━ succeeded, what would Potter do if he found out the real reason behind Draco's sudden 'change of heart?' If Draco earned Potter's love… and lost it, how could he live?

"And once I've gained his trust?" Draco tried to drown the sick feeling in his chest with a sip from his own wine glass.

"Why, you'll marry him, of course. Our funds are too low for any alternative, and most purebloods who would have been considered for your marriage prospects have fallen from wealth as we have." Narcissa laughed, the same laugh she'd used the day before when Potter had been asking embarrassing questions. Draco detested that laugh, especially when it was directed towards him. "Have him share ownership of his Gringotts vaults with you, name you heir in his will, whatever it takes to ensure a comfortable life after his untimely death."

"What?" Draco's wine glass spun gently on the table where he'd set it down carelessly in his shock, creating a crystalline echo in the small room. Surely his mother didn't expect him to act out this ridiculous scheme.

"You don't expect that the marriage will be a true one, do you?" Narcissa's eyes narrowed. "It won't. Any hope you have of that will be dismissed this instant. After Potter is taken care of you'll marry a fine, pureblood witch, have children, and continue the Malfoy bloodline." She paused dramatically, as she was wont to do when she wanted to drive her points home. "There's no other way."

* * *

"And have you brought this up with Miss Maybell?" Kinsley asked, a tone of mild alarm coating his question. Harry was seated in the Minister's office and had explained to him what had been happening between himself and his secretary. At first Kinsley shrugged it off as Harry's celebrity causing exaggerated admiration, but after Harry went on and listed the events in which Monica had sexually harassed him, he took it more seriously.

"I have," Harry answered. "She takes no hints, and even blunt disapproval doesn't seem to work. I don't know what else to do, sir."

"This is a problem." Harry had half a mind to say 'obviously,' but held his tongue.

"It is. I've warned her that if she kept on with her advances I'd have to bring it up with you, and that it could mean her losing her job. She doesn't seem to care."

"Well, if she won't take heed from the warnings you've given her already, I'm afraid there's not much I can do aside from write her a letter of dismissal."

"Thank you, sir," Harry breathed, a weight he hadn't previously known the extent of lifting off his shoulders. Just hearing that he wouldn't have to witness her 'subtly' raised skirt flashes, not-so-subtle caresses━ always unwelcome━ and her sitting on his desk anymore made his future look much brighter.

"Not at all, Harry." Kingsley reached over his desk and shook Harry's hand. "I'll have the letter finished by the end of her shift.

"Let's hope I can make it that long," Harry muttered under his breath. Kingsley's eyebrows raised in question, but Harry shook his head and left the room.

It wasn't easy to contain his satisfied grin as he passed by Monica's desk. She was seated there, batting her eyelashes and smiling at him, provocatively leaning forward to expose the line of her cleavage. It was less easy for Harry to refrain from gagging dramatically in response, but he managed not to.

Harry kept that satisfied smile on his face throughout the remainder of his workday, which he spent comfortably behind his own desk sorting through papers and files. All in all, it hadn't been an awful day. It wasn't even ruined when Monica came strutting into his office, slammed her letter of dismissal on his desk and demanded to know what the meaning of it was.

"Clearly it's a notice from the Minister stating that you're no longer needed here," Harry had explained with what could easily be interpreted as an innocent smile.

"But why?" Monica squeaked. "Haven't I been a good secretary? Haven't I fulfilled my position well enough?"

"Maybe. I wouldn't know; I've seen very little work being done on your part aside from the usual harassment you seem to think appropriate in a place of work."

"Harass━ what do you mean, harassment?"

"Don't play stupid," Harry said with a slight curl of his lip. "You know just as well as I do what you've done and I'm finished putting up with it. You're not welcome here any longer. Pack up your desk and leave."

Monica opened her mouth, let out a cry of outrage, kicked his desk, shouted in pain, and then limped from his office, slamming the door behind him. As soon as the door was shut, Harry began laughing at the scene that had just played out. If he was being honest, he hadn't really thought of what her response would be to being fired. He hadn't exactly cared, either. It was certainly more entertaining than he could've expected it to be.

After packing up some work to take home in his briefcase, Harry locked up the door to his office, cast several wards of protection around it, and Floo'ed home.

Dinner eaten, work complete, Harry sat on the sofa in his sitting room reading and listening to the muggle radio he'd purchased some time ago. A sense of utter contentment and relaxation seeped into his bones as the sounds of classic rock filled his ears and the prospect of a Monica-less workday brightened his outlook. His evenings usually went like this; tranquil, comfortable, and uneventful. Sometimes Ron and Hermione would stop by, but most nights he was alone and gratified to be so.

This made the knock on his front door not only unexpected, but startling.

Harry set his book down in a way that would gain him a cry of outrage from Hermione, got up from the sofa and walked through his house until he reached the front door. Looking through the peep-hole he saw that Draco Malfoy was standing on his front stoop, looking incredibly nervous, but also as if he was trying to conceal that he was. Confusion pooled in Harry's brain momentarily and before he could think better of it he opened the door.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry asked, not bothering to hide his lack of appreciation for Malfoy's presence.

"I need to speak to you," Malfoy said in a low voice. He glanced around him as though he was afraid he'd been followed.

"About?" Harry leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms. "I thought we'd discussed everything we needed to the other day."

"I…" Malfoy seemed to be arguing with himself silently before his face settled on remaining blank. "There's something I need to tell you."

"I gathered that," Harry said with a snort. He could hear Malfoy's teeth grinding and guessed he was probably struggling not to shout. Their rivalry may have been a school-based one, but that didn't mean their feelings about each other hadn't come with them into adulthood.

"You've got a position open for your secretary," Malfoy finally said in a tight voice.

"Not for long, I should think. With so many people needing jobs I'll probably find another secretary waiting for me on Monday morning."

"But…" Again Malfoy seemed to struggle to put his thoughts into words. Or, more likely, words that Harry would listen to without slamming the door in his pointy face. "I could do this job," he said firmly. "If you would let me, I would do it, and I wouldn't complain." Harry allowed one of his eyebrows to raise at that information.

"Doubtful." Harry delighted in the way Malfoy's lips tightened in obvious disagreement. "Really, Malfoy? You'd really keep your mouth shut if I ordered you around like you order your house elves?" Harry laughed in a cruel sounding way. "Right, you can't afford those anymore since Hermione passed the House Elf Salary Law."

Abruptly, Harry's face fell from the smirk he'd had to one of shame. When had he dropped so low as to make fun of someone for their financial status, be it a Malfoy or anyone else? Wasn't it his job to help people with little-to-no money without judgement? As he was pondering these things he recalled the way Malfoy used to make fun of Ron and the rest of the Weasleys for their financial situation. Do I really want to compare myself to him this way? I shouldn't even be able to…

"Listen, Malfoy," he began, his tone more civil. "I'm sure it took a lot for you to come here and ask for this job, but you're not a good fit for the position. Do you really think you could handle me as your boss?" At Malfoy's blank stare, he continued on without pause. "You would have to go on errands for me, grab my coffee, sort papers, be to work on time, follow orders… That doesn't sound like the sort of job you would do willingly." Harry thought he saw a look of anguish cross Malfoy's features briefly, but wasn't sure why, or if it had actually happened at all. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, or lack thereof.

For a while, Malfoy seemed to simply think over Harry's words. Good, Harry thought. Maybe he'll come to his senses and stop with this nonsense. We both know it wouldn't work.

Finally Malfoy spoke.

"You're right," he said softly. There was still an edge to his tone, but one of determination. "I won't like this job. I don't usually take orders from anyone besides…" He seemed to think better of his next statement before continuing. "I don't usually take orders, but I need this job. My family needs me to get this job. We're going to run out of money eventually, and as much as I dislike needing assistance, there is no avoiding it." Malfoy closed his eyes momentarily. When he opened them again, there was a glint in them, hard as steel and just as inflexible. "If you give me this job you'll see that I can handle it. I can handle whatever I have to do if it keeps my family afloat. With no complaints," he reiterated.

That gave Harry a lot to think about, and not much time to do it. He looked at his wrist watch and glanced back up at Malfoy before letting out a defeated breath.

"Come in and sit down," he muttered begrudgingly. Damn this soft heart of mine.

Harry ushered Malfoy in and directed him to the sitting room he'd just been in before the interruption. Malfoy looked around a bit before sitting in one of the leather armchairs near the fireplace. As uncomfortable as the blond looked, Harry couldn't get any fulfillment from it after the shameful way he'd handled the situation so far. He sat in his usual spot, the left side of the loveseat directly across from the fireplace, and angled his legs to rest beside him.

"Thirsty?" he asked, purely out of habit.

"No, thank you," Malfoy replied stiffly. The only hint to how uncomfortable he was feeling was the artery twitching along his throat. Harry decided pointedly to ignore that and just let the information Malfoy had given him sink in.

So, Malfoy was desperate enough to come to Harry for a job. Or, Harry considered, he thinks he has better luck with me, since everyone seems to think I have this hero-complex… Pushing that notion farther back from the forefront of his mind, he decided Malfoy was simply desperate. He thinks he can be my secretary, with no objections, even though all his life he's been in the position to give orders rather than take them. He thinks he can handle this job, even though he's never had a job before in his life.

Harry stewed on this when another thing came to light. Kingsley. What would he think if Harry went to him on Monday and requested that Malfoy take up Monica's position, when he was fully aware of the type of relationship the two of them had had in school? He'd think I'd gone mad and want to test me for the Imperius curse' effects, he decided. If he decided to give Malfoy this job, and it was a big if, that was something he thought he could handle.

"You won't whinge or protest," he asked, "if I tell you to get my lunches for me?" He could hardly picture the proud Malfoy doing such a menial task for someone he despised.

"I won't," said Malfoy, with no hesitation. Harry nodded reflexively.

"You'll remember to give me important paperwork?" The countless times Monica had done just that, forcing Harry to apologise to people he otherwise wouldn't have had to, fresh in his memories.

"I'll remember." Surprisingly, there was no tone of resentment to Malfoy's agreement.

"And you'll keep to yourself? You won't come to me with stupid questions about how to do your job after I've trained you to do it sufficiently?" This was more of a test than anything. Let's see how he responds to being treated as though he's not intelligent.

"Really, Potter?" Malfoy spat. "If you train me to do my job correctly the first time, there will be no need for me to ask 'stupid' questions." This had been the expected response, of course. Test failed.

"That's exactly the sort of attitude I can't have from someone who works for me," Harry said. "If you can't handle being asked that sort of question, then I don't see how you'll manage working as my secretary." Malfoy swallowed and looked to be collecting himself, then let out a low breath.

"My apologies." His tone was more docile than before. "I didn't mean to react that way. If you hired me as your secretary you would not have to deal with any… attitude from me. I give you my word."

"Forgiven," Harry said on a sigh. Every instinct in him was shouting at him to order that Malfoy leave, to not give him the job. He could hardly believe the next words leaving his mouth, with all the commotion going on in his head. "We'll see if your word holds up on Monday."

Malfoy blinked several times, his mouth parted slightly in confusion. Then, as if he could see precisely what his face was doing and didn't approve, he regained the composed expression he'd sat there with for the last five or so minutes.

"You're hiring me?" Somehow, Malfoy had managed to ask the question in a dignified manner, as though he was only doing it out of obligation.

"I am, though I can't seem to figure out why." He hadn't really meant to say that last part, but there it was. "Like I said, we'll see if this decision proves to be a good one." I'm sure I'll find out that it isn't soon enough. Nothing involving Malfoy is ever a good decision, he reflected.

Malfoy stood up and crossed the small space between the furniture and held out his hand. "Thank you, Potter," he said, sounding genuine. Harry took his hand and shook it once before letting go.

"Don't mention it." Harry stood and led the way to the front door. As Malfoy stepped out onto the stoop, he said, "Seriously, don't mention it." Malfoy frowned at him over his shoulder before he stepped off the cement staircase and twisted on his heel, Apparating away. "What the fuck did I just agree to?" he asked himself as he shut the door again.

* * *

As Draco placed his hand on the doorknob to his irritatingly small bedroom━ yes, room, not rooms as he was used to━ he saw from the corner of his eyes the flowing, light green robes his mother had donned that day. Draco lowered his hand and turned to face his mother, placing his usual respectful mask on before meeting her eyes.

"Mother," he greeted her. "I've been successful in my first attempt to get closer to Potter."

"Very good." Though his mother didn't smile, there was approval shimmering in her greyish blue eyes. "Elaborate, if you would." Draco dipped his chin subserviently before replying.

"As you know, I planned to acquire the position of secretary beneath him." He hated those words slipping off his tongue. Beneath was a word he rarely, if ever, used to describe himself. "Thank you, by the way, for informing me of the opening there━"

"Yes, yes," Narcissa interrupted, clearly not interested in the customary gratefulness she expected from her son. "Onto the rest. How did you succeed?"

"With little effort, surprisingly. I went to Potter's house and requested the job…"

Draco briefed his mother on what had happened at Potter's house, but was unable to answer her questions on why he had approved Draco for the job in the end. Draco wasn't sure, himself, why Potter had so easily decided to employ Draco. Narcissa narrowed her eyes at her son after all her questions were asked, and at first Draco thought his mother would accuse him of lying or omitting information. Thankfully, if she did think Draco had left any details out, she didn't say so.

Narcissa opened her eyes to their usual almond shape and told Draco, "I'm proud of you. This was a large step in the plan━ one I didn't expect to come to fruition. You've outdone yourself, son." Before Draco could thank her, Narcissa moved on. "When do you begin working?"

"In two day's time." Narcissa's cat-like smile tilted the corners of her lips.

"Perfect. That will give me ample time to formulate the next step." And with that, Narcissa walked away noiselessly, her fine robes swishing around her.

Draco exhaled and allowed his shoulders to drop to a comfortable position as soon as he was in the privacy of his room. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wooden door, wishing that there was some way out of the situation he found himself in. How am I supposed to betray him? Even though Draco had had to bite his tongue earlier, when Potter had treated him like a berk, he didn't want to hurt him. How can I disobey Mother in this? Is there nothing I can do, but go along with her despicable plan like a mindless servant? Shaking his head, he stifled the urge to break the nearest object in his room. It wouldn't do to destroy one of the last remaining pieces of Malfoy decor. Not to mention that if he did act out in such a way he would only be letting his mother know just what he thought of this whole ordeal.

Would it really be so bad if I did let her know? he wondered as he sat down on the edge of his too-small bed. In reality it wasn't that small, but it was much smaller than the one he had slept in all his life until this past year. What would Mother and Father really do if I decided to go against their wishes in this? Draco didn't think anything too bad could happen. Maybe he would be disowned, but there wasn't much money to inherit anyway, so would that really be horrible?

As he got ready for bed he listed the pros and cons of the situation.

Draco brushed his teeth and decided it wouldn't truly affect his life badly if his parents disowned him, which he was sure they would do if he disobeyed them in the way he thought he would.

Draco put on his pyjamas and realised that he would have nowhere to go if he was disowned, and being homeless was something he refused to be.

Draco folded his clean robes and put them away as he considered contacting his Aunt Andromeda and making amends. Surely if he explained his situation she would understand and take him in.

Draco lay down in bed and remembered that his and his parents' views on blood purity would put a stop to that possibility becoming a reality.

Draco stared at the ceiling of his room and questioned whether or not he truly agreed with his parents' beliefs.

Where had those beliefs got them, in the end? Nowhere good, was his answer to his own question. As much as he had wanted to believe that his blood status made him better than those around him, even those with the same blood status, the reality that he was just as badly off as most others these days convinced him that he'd spent years believing these things for nothing. What did the purity of one's blood mean if you were subjected to the same daily struggles as a typical Mudblood? I might as well be a Mudblood, for all the good being a blood purist has done me.

A wince shook Draco's body as the severity of that word 'mudblood' finally dawned on him. Having that word turned on himself, even if he was the one doing it, didn't feel good. Far from good, actually. I can't believe I actually called people that, he thought with a new, raw guilt. Granger… I suppose I owe her an apology.

Comprehension dropped into Draco's tiring mind. What am I thinking? This is exactly the kind of thing I can't be thinking. It goes against everything I've been taught, everything I've thought to be true my entire life! Nothing productive would come of this thought pattern, he decided as he practiced clearing his mind in the same way he would during Occlumency.

The only thing these thoughts would do was make him even more restless than he was becoming. Mutiny was the last thing he needed to contemplate, and second to that were the cold feet he was experiencing when it related to his credences. These were dangerous things to be assessing, dangerous on a level he was unfamiliar with. Even during the war, with the Dark Lord residing in his house, he hadn't had thoughts of disobeying his parents. They loved him, they wanted him safe, they wanted what was best for him. Even if the means of getting what was best for him would hurt him along the way, he had to trust that his mother in particular knew what she was doing. I really, really hope she knows what she's doing, was the last thought Draco had before he fell asleep. Because I have no fucking clue.

* * *

Monday morning found Harry rushing to get ready for work. He'd been so wrapped up in his late-night ponderings that he hadn't fallen asleep until nearly three in the morning. He had less than ten minutes before he would be late to work, something he'd successfully avoided in the year and a half he'd had this job.

He ran a comb violently through his hair, then gave up halfway through; it wouldn't make a difference anyhow, his hair was always looking as though he never tried to tame it. Shoving a piece of buttered toast into his mouth, Harry jogged to the fireplace and tossed in a handful of Floo powder from the jar nearby.

"Ministry of Magic!" he shouted, and nearly lost his toast as he was yanked from his own hearth and plopped roughly into another.

Not stopping to even brush the soot from his work robes, Harry sprinted from the Floo Room to the crowded elevators, hoping he could clock in before he was deemed late. As soon as he reached the anteroom to his department, where everyone clocked in, he sent an identifying spark at the receiver, checking the clock and sighing as he saw the second hand reach twelve just after his spark signed him in for the day. Just barely on time was still on time.

He smiled to himself as he opened the door to his department, but the smile was gone as soon as his eyes met the tall figure standing outside of his office. Malfoy starts today, he remembered. Right. It hadn't taken as much persuasion as he'd assumed it would to get Kingsley to agree, especially when he related to him the situation the Malfoys were in. In some ways it was good that the new Minister of Magic was so benevolent and caring for his citizens. Though Harry wasn't sure this would turn out to be a good decision, he was willing to give it a chance. And I suppose that means I have to be nice to Malfoy, he told himself as he walked over to the person he was thinking about.

"Morning," Harry said as he unwarded and unlocked his office.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter." Malfoy stunned him by addressing him in such a respectful way, but he did his best not to let it show.

"Come on in, we'll discuss your duties in here." Malfoy followed him into his office, where they both sat down across from each other.

"Do you need coffee or tea?" Malfoy asked, surprising Harry yet again.

"Er, not yet, but thanks anyway." Harry willed the strange heat in his cheeks to leave. It was odd having Malfoy act so… servile. He supposed it was something he'd better get used to, and something he should take as a good omen. "Your duties are simple, really, and I think we went over the bulk of them the other night. You'll sit at the desk outside of my office most of the time," which shouldn't be too different from what he's used to, the lazy sod, he added silently before admonishing himself for thinking so rudely before he had reason to. "Other people will probably test you by asking you to run errands for them. Don't. You're my secretary, and unless the Minister himself asks you to do something, come to me first.

"People in this division will give you papers and those papers will need to be gone through by you first," he continued. "You'll decide who is really in need of help and the files of those who are genuinely in need, you'll give to me." Harry took a sheet from inside his desk and handed it to Malfoy, who looked over it swiftly. "That's an informational sheet. It will help you deduce who is below the poverty limit and who is allowed to request Ministry assistance. Those who aren't looking for financial aid, housing, or child care will most likely be looking for in-home care," Harry explained, hoping Malfoy was retaining everything. "These people are usually able to pay for this service, or their insurance covers it, so the financial aspect of the informational sheet won't be necessary. This part, here, will be."

Harry went on to explain life insurance policies and what types of life insurance warranted which kind of in-home care an individual could obtain. After that, he went on to explain the rest of the job and all it entailed. Malfoy sat across from him, and although he didn't nod or speak, Harry could tell he was paying attention.

As Harry's explanations came to a close, he asked, "Do you have any questions?"

"No," Malfoy responded. "I appreciate this more than I can say, Mr. Potter." Okay, maybe it wasn't as nice hearing Malfoy refer to him that way as he'd first thought. It seemed degrading, for some reason, that Malfoy should have to call him 'Mister' when they were the same age.

"Listen," he began, placing his hands on his desk. "Since we're working together, you can call me Harry. It'll be weird if you're the only person around here not calling me that." Malfoy raised one pale eyebrow and a delicate frown tilted his mouth.

"Then I suppose it would only be right if you call me Draco," he responded lightly.

"Right. Draco." He let the name play on his tongue, not disliking the way it felt, though he couldn't say why. "Your first two weeks here will consist of your training. I'll be in here if you need help or any questions answered. After that, I hope, you'll have the job down well enough to be able to do most things on your own."

"Thank you," Mal-Draco said. That'll take some getting used to, Harry thought absently.

"Not at all." He watched as M-Draco━ Draco, Draco, Draco, Harry repeated, forcing his brain to get familiar with the name━ stood up and went to the door of the office. "And I'll take that coffee now, if you please." Draco turned around.

"How do you take it?" Harry frowned in an appreciative way. He's getting this so quickly. I wonder how he knows to ask these things?

"With the Italian Sweet Cream flavoured cream and a single cube of ice," Harry replied, then added, "For today, at least. Sometimes I switch up the flavour of the cream, so be sure to ask."

"Of course," Draco said softly. Harry wondered if it caused Draco pain to talk to Harry in such a different way than he had in school. Then again, people do change. "Where do I go to get the coffee?"

"The same place you'll go to get my lunch. There's a cafeteria not far from here, on this floor. Shouldn't be hard to find." It really wasn't, in fact, as it was just down the hall from the room outside his office. In reality, Harry was the one to grab his coffee and lunch on a regular basis. That was before he had a secretary who wouldn't take every chance they could get to harass him, however. Harry was actually excited to have someone else do these things for him, for once. Not that he needed it, but it made his day significantly easier if he didn't have to get up from his desk every twenty minutes, in the morning, to get a coffee refill.

"I'll be back with your coffee in a bit," Draco said before he left the office. Harry's solitude didn't last long, though, before Draco entered again a moment later to ask, "Did you want anything else with your coffee?"

Harry held up his uneaten toast in response. Draco nodded and left again. So far, so good, Harry thought as he began eating his toast. It was cold, but he didn't bother with a warming charm; he had work to get to. The pile of papers at his desk was unsorted, but he wouldn't give it to his new secretary to sort this time; Harry was aware of a pile twice as large waiting on Draco's desk that needed sorting and didn't feel like adding to his first day of work. Again, he couldn't say why he was going easy on the person who was supposed to be his worst enemy. He certainly didn't like the prat. He wasn't sure, now, if he felt bad for him or not, though. After the effort Draco had put into getting this job━ which probably wouldn't look like much effort at all, if one didn't know Draco very well━ Harry supposed that he might feel a little bad for him. I mean, he went to my house, somewhere I'm sure he didn't want to be, and practically begged for this position, Harry recalled. If that doesn't shout 'desperation,' then I don't know what does.

A quiet rapping on his office door interrupted the thoughts going through Harry's head.

"Come in," he replied to who he was sure was Draco. Instead, Ron came into his office, holding a mug of steaming dark roast. "Oh! Morning, Ron. What are you doing here?"

"Harry, do you know who's been hired as your bloody secretary?" Ron nearly shouted as he set the mug down in front of Harry, completely disregarding his friend's question.

"I should," Harry confirmed. "I was the one who suggested to Kingsley that he take the position." Harry had purposefully referred to Draco as 'he' in front of Ron instead of using his first name, which would suggest he and Draco were closer than they were in reality. Ron's response to Draco being hired was expected, of course, only Harry hadn't realised this conversation would be taking place so soon. "How did you hear about it?"

"Did you really not expect everyone to be talking about it?" Ron asked loudly. Harry's lack of sleep, lack of coffee, and the shouting were all contributing to the beginning pangs of a migraine. "That's the first bloody thing I heard about this morning. Everyone's on about 'Malfoy this,' 'Malfoy that.' I didn't want to believe it, but━"

"Could you lower your voice, mate?" Harry asked, picking up the cup of coffee and drinking deeply. "Had a late night."

"Sorry…" Ron spoke more quietly and had the decency to at least look apologetic. "But why would you suggest him for the job? I'm confused as everyone else is right now," he said with a scoff.

"He came to my house the other night and begged me for it. His family is one of my financial aid cases and I couldn't approve them unless there was at least one working person in their family." Ron narrowed his eyes and shook his head.

"So?" Harry sighed.

"So," he drawled, "nobody is going to hire a Malfoy. It's too soon after the war, the wounds are too fresh."

"I'm still not getting why you had to be the one to help him."

"I just told you," Harry said in exasperation. "I can't approve their case━ Ron. Do you know how poor they are now?" Ron sat back in his chair and crossed his ankle over his knee.

"As poor as they deserve to be, I'd wager." Harry took another long sip of coffee before responding, hoping it would rid his head of the pain throbbing through it. "For a Brit, you drink way too much coffee, mate."

Harry disregarded the random, irrelevant statement and said, "They'll be out of money before Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy have passed, at this rate, leaving their son with nothing." Harry tried to use as much patience as he could muster.

"And you should care about that, why?" Ron tapped his fingers on his kneecap in irritation as he waited for an answer that would placate him. Harry had a feeling he couldn't offer such an answer.

"Er, weren't you the one who said I had a hero-complex? Or was it Hermione?" he asked. "Oh, wait, it was both of you, along with a number of your siblings."

"Harry," Ron began, uncrossing his leg and leaning towards his friend in earnest. "You know we were joking, but…"

"But?" Harry verbally prodded when Ron didn't finish his statement.

"But this sort of thing, what you're doing for Malfoy, is what makes that not a joke."

"Then you weren't joking when you said it the first time," Harry retorted with a thin-lipped smile. Ron stared at Harry with a mixture of irritation and concern on his freckled face. After a few moments, Ron exhaled and sat back once again, shrugging his shoulders.

"I trust your judgement most of the time," he said. "You know I do. We wouldn't still be friends today if I didn't. I just don't see why you feel like you need to help Malfoy, of all people."

"Neither do I," Harry admitted. Ron looked startled by this admission, but Harry went on before Ron could cut him off mid-thought. "But this is why I wanted this job. I wanted to help people who were struggling because of the war. I know you wanted me to be an Auror with you, but this is the way I want to help people. This job requires me to be fair and unbiased." Harry chuckled and said, "Believe me, when I first saw the Malfoy's file I wanted to accuse Monica of playing a prank on me. But they really do need help," he emphasised seriously.

"What happened to Monica, by the way?" Ron asked, seemingly accepting of Harry's response. Harry groaned.

"She groped me one-too-many times," he said angrily.

"You're joking," Ron accused him. "I thought she'd left you alone after that time you said you'd get her fired? You really need to start filling me in on these things."

"You know I'm not that lucky in life. No, I'd had enough and finally had to go to Kingsley. I'm glad to be rid of her," he said with a huff. "And, honestly, it's not so bad giving orders to Dr-Malfoy," he corrected himself at the last second. Just as I was getting used to 'Draco.' "It'll do him some good, learning to be respectful to someone he hates." That had the desired effect on Ron, who started sniggering.

"I didn't even think about that! Oh, mate, this is perfect." Ron palmed his forehead and laughed again. "Of course you had a motive like that behind hiring him. It's a fitting revenge, really."

"Right," Harry agreed, feeling the heat spread into his cheeks that usually came when he lied. I'll let him think I did this to get back at Draco, if it'll make my life easier.

"Ah," Ron groaned as he stood up. "Well, I'd better get back before John has my head. We're doing Poisons and Antidotes, this month." The redhead looked displeased about this, to say the least.

"Hey, at least you don't have to deal with Snape," Harry said lightly, though the mention of the late Potions Professor still caused his heart to sting a bit. Even if he wasn't the arsehole Death Eater scum everyone thought he'd been, Harry had to admit that he'd been a dreadful teacher. At least, to anyone who wasn't a Slytherin.

"I'd quit training right now, if that were the case, and I'm nearly done with it," Ron said with a wave and a roll of his eyes as he left the office.

Alone, finally, Harry thought as he finished his coffee. He'd need another refill, but he figured he'd let Draco get some more work done before he asked. The conversation with Ron hadn't been as awful as he'd thought it would be, and it had reminded Harry that he needed to approve the Malfoys' case and have Draco send it to the Financial Aid Department.

It was while Harry was flipping through the 'financial aid' pile that another knock sounded on his office door.

"Enter," he said as he spotted the Malfoy file and pulled it out.

"I brought you a refill," Draco said as he approached the desk with caution.

"Oh," Harry started. He'd never once, not even when Monica had first started working for him, had a secretary bring him a refill with no request to do so. Perhaps hiring Draco hadn't been a mistake. It's still day one, he reminded himself. Don't get your hopes up, yet. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Draco said as he set the mug on the desk and took the nearly empty one.

"Here, I've got your file." Harry quickly swished his wand, using a nonverbal charm that would stamp 'APPROVED' on the file in large red letters. "Send that over to Financial Aid and your Gringotts vault will be given the needed amount to pay your bills each month, including grocery funds." Draco's cheeks became tinted pink at this information, even as his face remained impassive.

"Thank you."

"It can take up to three weeks to go through, but if your parents have to pay bills before then, they'll be compensated." Draco cleared his throat.

"Thank you," he repeated stiffly. It was clear to Harry that Draco didn't like having to ask for financial assistance. Harry was already aware of this, but it didn't make this any less awkward.

"How far have you gotten with the pile of files out there?" Draco seemed to relax at this question, and Harry allowed the twisted feeling in his gut to ease as well.

"I'm nearly through it," Draco said confidently. Harry's eyebrows rose a centimeter or so.

"Really? That's impressive. It usually took Monica an entire day to sort through one this size." Harry motioned to the pile on his desk.

"Do those need sorting? I could do that for you. It won't take me long."

"Apparently not," Harry muttered. "Er, go ahead, I mean. Bring them in whenever you're finished." Draco nodded and took the pile. "Do you have any questions so far?"

"Only one." Harry waited for Draco to continue. "Where's the lavatory?" Of course he'd use the fanciest term for the loo, Harry joked to himself.

"It's attached to the cafeteria."

The two wizards nodded to each other and Draco left the room. Harry continued to tell himself that this was only Draco's first day, and problems were bound to arise sooner or later, no matter how good Draco was doing so far. He did have to admit that it was nice to have someone competent in Draco's position for once. Hopefully I'm wrong, Harry thought. Hopefully things continue this way with no hitches.

* * *

As Draco made his way to the Floo Room, done with his first workday, he went over the events that had unfolded in the nine hours he'd been there and ignored the many hateful gazes that landed on him. His mother would be proud of him, he hoped. That was the only thing he could look forward to, after an entire day of doing Potter's bidding. Or Harry, as I'm supposed to refer to him, Draco corrected himself. It hadn't been as bad as he'd thought it would be, though, he had to admit. He had brought to work with him several phials of Calming Draught just so that he would avoid snapping at Harry and risking his job, as well as his mother's plan, but didn't need to drink any of them. For whatever reason, Harry hadn't piled loads of work on him, hadn't treated him like dirt, hadn't reprimanded him━ not that Draco had made any mistakes to be reprimanded for, but he'd thought Harry would take whatever excuse he could to shout at him━ and overall he'd had a rather nice day.

Well, nice aside from the other people in the office. Other Ministry employees hadn't taken kindly to Draco being there, and it was no mystery why. The name Malfoy was still one that instigated arguments, Howlers, and general chaos. One of the people who had been upset to discover Draco working there was none other than Harry's pet Weasel. First thing that morning, just as Draco was about to deliver Harry's coffee, Weasel had stormed into the room, taken the mug from Draco's hands, and said, "I didn't want to believe the rumours, but I can see that they were true. I don't know who thought it would be a good idea to hire a piece of _shite_ like you, but I can promise you that if I have anything to do with it, you won't last here through the week." Weasel's face had turned an ugly shade of puce by the end of his short rant, but when he'd left Harry's office he hadn't even spared Draco a passing glance.

Draco's reflections of the day were drawn to a close as he gracefully stepped out of the hearth at his house. Narcissa was waiting for him in the small drawing room, a cup of Scottish Breakfast hovering at her elbow.

"Welcome home, Draco," she said, motioning to the sofa across from her. As he sat primly on the edge of said sofa, she asked, "What progress have you made today?"

"More than I thought I would, Mother," Draco responded.

"Do tell."

"We're on a first-name-basis," he began, forming a list in his mind of things he'd need to tell her before she could begin the questioning Draco knew was in store for him. "I made no mistakes today. He was kinder than I'd hoped he would be, assigned me little work, and I suspect he was the reason that Weasley won't follow through with the threat he made at the start of the day." This caught his mother's attention, as he had known it would.

"And what threat is this?"

"He claimed that he would have me fired by the end of the week."

"You mentioned that you don't think Weasley will follow through," Narcissa pointed out. "Why do you believe this?"

"He made the threat before entering Harry's office. Weasley was in a state of violent anger, and had we not been in a professional setting, I believe he would have wished to harm me; however, when he left the office, he didn't bother to look at me. I have reason to believe Harry convinced him that my working there will be beneficial," Draco concluded. Narcissa raised her perfect eyebrows in response to Draco's explanation.

"Then you've already succeeded in gaining enough of Potter's approval, or sympathy, that he will defend you, should he need to," she said in a way that expressed just how pleased she was, though her voice wouldn't sound very different to someone who wasn't a Malfoy. "Draco, you've done well."

"Thank you, Mother," he said as he inclined his head.

"I expect more progress to be made in the coming month. There is, of course, no specific deadline for this strategy…" Narcissa paused to sip her tea, adding that dramatic pause she loved so well. "In any case, I expect you to have gained invitation to dine with Potter by the end of next month."

"Yes, Mother." She blinked once, slowly, and nodded, which was her way of dismissing Draco.

The moment he was within the four walls of his room he allowed himself to relax, as much as he was able to when he was so uncomfortable in his own home. This discomfort was something he had grown used to over his nearly twenty years of life, though, and it wasn't unbearable. He did long for a day when he could go to a home where his parents didn't reside and fully relax without the feeling of being watched constantly. With Mother's plan I doubt that fantasy will ever occur, Draco thought with resentment. Harry's kindness that day had done more than astound Draco; it had also given him a false sense of hope.

Since Draco was eleven years old and had first offered friendship to Harry, albeit in the wrong way, and been rejected, he had longed for it. Around his fifth year, he had done some 'soul-searching,' as he'd heard it called when one looked within themselves deeply, and discovered that his desire for Harry's attention went deeper than simply one for friendship. Well, he discovered and denied it, up until his breakdown in sixth year that also coincidentally involved his failed attempt at killing Dumbledore. Afterward, when his entire world was shaken, the foundation of who he was compromised, he was forced to look even deeper within himself than he had ever done before. That was when he'd realised that he was, at the very least, bisexual, and wanted none other than Harry as his life partner.

His parents knew, even when he didn't realise they did. Aside from them, Blaise had been the only person privy to this discovery, and had labeled it obsession on Draco's part. He disagreed entirely. He wasn't obsessed with Harry, he didn't fawn after him like some fanboy, asking for his autograph. Maybe he'd done things specifically to gain Harry's attention━ numerous things, things that he didn't often like reflecting on━ but he didn't believe he'd been obsessed. Blaise was always ready to list the reasons why he was.

The fact that Draco did have these feelings for Harry made it incredibly difficult for him to go through with his mother's scheme. No part of Draco, now that he was an adult and could see the error of his childish ways in school, wanted to harm Harry. No part of him felt that he could go through with the ultimate end goal of this sick plot Narcissa demanded. Harry's civility towards him━ along with Weasel's lack of hatred as he'd left Harry's office today, that he knew Harry had been responsible for━ had only reinforced the feeling of absolute, gut-wrenching dread in Draco's stomach.

How can I get out of this? he wondered as he waited for his father's call to dinner. What can I do? Draco felt utterly helpless as he tried to formulate some way out of this predicament.

No solution came to him in the time it took for dinner to be served, and by that time he was forced to rid his mind of any thoughts of 'if,' or 'maybe.'


	2. Hang On To Yourself

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, Lori94 and Guest! I'm glad you're looking forward :). I hope everyone else is liking the story so far. It's been a pleasure to write it. I can't promise all the updates will happen this frequently, but I can promise that I'll do my best to post regularly. I'm still not sure exactly how long this fic will be, so bear with me. Hopefully nobody will mind if it winds up being longer than I intended at the off.**

 **Anyway, here's chapter 2!**

* * *

Draco's training was nearly complete, and Harry was gobsmacked as to how his new secretary had managed to go through his training without making _one single_ mistake. Harry hadn't had to correct him in anything in the weeks he'd been training. It was so incredible, in fact, that Kingsley had asked for a meeting with the two of them. That was where he and Draco were headed now.

"You're sure he's not upset with me, for some reason?" Draco asked under his breath. Harry could understand why he might think so, with how many people glared at the wizard as they made their way to the Minister's office. Draco probably thought everyone was upset with him _all_ the time, aside from maybe Harry.

"He's got no reason to be. Like I told you, you've done exceptionally well here," Harry responded in kind. "I don't think I've ever had a secretary who didn't make any mistakes during training. Hell, Monica made mistakes on a near daily basis, even after training."

"You've only had two other secretaries," Draco pointed out. "And I still don't see why it took you so long to fire the last one. From the sounds of it, she wasn't fit to work in any position in the Ministry." Harry chuckled at Draco's insult, even though it was mild, as far as insults went. _He doesn't know the half of it._

"I guess I'm just a pushover, in the end. Afraid of hurting anyone's feelings." Draco glanced at Harry sidelong and sent him a playful smirk.

"From my experience with you, that's far from true."

 _Was that a joke?_ Harry wondered as he laughed quietly. _It's the first one I've heard him tell since he started working here. Maybe he's getting more comfortable._ Harry couldn't help but be glad. He'd been sure Draco would struggle at least a bit with being made to follow orders. In fact, Harry had often wondered how frequently his secretary had to bite his tongue to keep from snapping back at him, and the others in the department, on some of the less pleasant work days. But, even with the pranks the other employees tried to play on Draco━ trying to get him to do their work, directing him incorrectly to other offices and nearly getting him lost on several occasions, and giving him false files to sort through on people who didn't even exist━ he had held his piece, if he had one, and made sure to inform Harry of every incidence instead of lashing out.

It was far from the behaviour Harry was familiar with from the Slytherin he'd known in school. Draco had become more reserved, less inclined to get revenge, as far as Harry could see, and was genuinely… not bad to be around. It was something Harry hadn't been anticipating, but was glad to find out as the weeks passed. Harry had to wonder why Draco was so different now. What had caused the once petty, mean, and overall sour man to change his ways? Was it that his family had fallen from their status? Was it that he'd finally grown up and decided not to act in the childish ways Harry had assumed he still did? Or was it something else? _Maybe he's just pretending to be like this, since he works for me,_ Harry considered. _How much can I really know about him, if the only time I see him and interact with him is at work?_.

As the two wizards reached the door to Kingsley's office Harry heard Draco let out a soft exhale. It shouldn't have bothered Harry that Draco was nervous, but it did. He patted Draco's shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture before he knocked on the large oak door.

"Come on in!" Kingsley called from inside. Harry opened the door and swooped his arm in a gesture that told Draco to lead the way. "Have a seat, have a seat."

"Kingsley," Harry greeted.

"Minister Shacklebolt," Draco said, not appearing nervous in the slightest. Either that pat on his shoulder had worked wonders, or Draco was an excellent actor, which led Harry to believe that his last notion might be more accurate than false. Harry wasn't able to decide before they were both seated and the meeting was commenced.

"Draco," Kingsley began, making his fingers steeple as he peered at the blond seated across from him. "I must say, I had my doubts when I agreed to hire you." Harry noticed the way Draco's shoulders subtly stiffened and wondered why he was paying so much attention in the first place.

"My apologies, Minister," Draco began, but Kingsley shut him down before he could continue apologising.

"Nonsense. You've shown that you have the real prospect of being an asset to the Ministry. Not one mistake━ not a single, minute mistake━ have you made so far. It's been a long time since I've witnessed that sort of competence."

"I━ thank you, sir."

"Harry, you've done a wonderful job training him." Kingsley leaned forward in his seat and lowered his voice, as if there weren't silencing wards all over his office. "I don't normally do this so soon after we've hired someone, but I think you deserve a raise. That's an extra galleon per hour, Draco. And another two for you," he said, switching his gaze to Harry.

"Kingsley," Harry began frantically. "That's a bit much, don't you think? I don't need a raise, you pay me enough already."

" _I'll_ decide whether you make enough or not," the Minister replied half-seriously. "The amount of work your department has gotten done these past weeks is impressive, and not one complaint from the sister-departments." He paused and then said, "Well, no complaints of validity."

Harry thought he knew that Kingsley meant. Harry had been privy to more than his fair share of complaints about the fact that it was a Malfoy, or a 'Death Eater,' who was working with them. He hadn't been able to convince everyone completely that Draco wouldn't be a bother, but after the way Draco had shown himself to be a good employee people had stopped complaining. _Or they just stopped complaining to_ me _when they realised I wouldn't fire him simply because he's a Malfoy._

"We should've rid ourselves of your last secretary much sooner," he said with a smile directed toward Draco.

"I don't know what to say," Harry said as he blinked rapidly. "I'm grateful." Kingsley waved him off, as though to say it wasn't a big deal.

"You two can have the rest of the day off. Go get some drinks, celebrate a bit."

"Thank you," both Draco and Harry said at once.

* * *

Never in Draco's life did he think he'd wind up at a pub seated across from Harry Potter, and yet… here he was. This was, of course, something his mother would be especially glad to hear. The sick feeling returned as that notion came into focus, though, changing his mood entirely.

"You alright?" Harry asked with concern. Draco inwardly grimaced. _Of course he has to pay attention at the worst of times._

"Fine," Draco said firmly. "I'm wondering about the quality of the fish, however." Hopefully that would get Harry off his back.

"Not as good as you're used to?" Harry teased. Draco narrowed his eyes and quelled the desire to spit back a scathing retort, as was his common way of dealing with the dark-haired wizard across from him. _We're not at Hogwarts anymore,_ he told himself. _There's no need to start a fight, when things are going so well._

"No, it's not," Draco deadpanned before taking a sip of the third firewhiskey he'd ordered.

"You'll get pissed if you keep drinking like that."

"And what if that's the plan?"

"Then you probably shouldn't be Apparating by the end of the evening," Harry explained in a serious tone.

"I can walk, from here. It's no skin off of my back. I trust you not to take advantage of me in the meantime," he joked. Harry sputtered and butterbeer foam splashed from the sides of his mug. It hadn't been an accident that Draco had said that at the same time as Harry took a drink.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry laughed as he wiped the foam from his face. "I'd like to think I have better morals than that, thanks."

"You probably do, when you're not face-to-face with such perfection." _What am I doing?_ he asked himself, not for the first time since he'd started interacting with Harry. _Why am I flirting with him, when I know exactly where this will lead?_ But there was no way around it. His mother wanted this, and while Draco didn't want what this would inevitably lead to, Draco wanted this too. It didn't stop bile from rising into his throat as he recalled that his mother wanted Harry dead, sooner rather than later. _But maybe this plan won't work out the way she thinks it will._ Draco tried to comfort himself with the thought, even though that would mean that Draco's wish to be with Harry would remain unfulfilled. He would prefer that over the alternative.

"I wouldn't call you perfection," Harry said as he pretended to contemplate Draco. Or maybe he really was contemplating him. "More like… up to par." It was Draco's turn to sputter, then.

"I beg your pardon? 'Up to par,'" he repeated with a scoff. "Those specs of yours are in need of replacement, if you can't see just how horribly that fails to describe me."

"You're attractive, I'll give you that," Harry said before taking another swig of his beverage, "but perfection is a very strong word." Draco was taken aback by Harry's statement, and the casual manner in which it was given.

"I wasn't aware that you found men attractive," Draco said, hoping that his statement would lead Harry to reveal more about himself.

"It's all relative," was the vague response he was offered instead.

"What do you mean by that?" His interest and curiosity was piqued by Harry's supposed indifference.

"I mean that it's all relative. I find people attractive because I do, not because of their gender."

"That's an interesting way to look at attraction." He couldn't help but follow that up with, "But it does bring about the question of why you've only dated women up until this point. Unless you've been dating others in secret, that is."

"I suppose it does," was all Harry said before he looked away and picked up his drink again.

Draco decided that was his que to stop asking personal questions, but he wasn't sure what else to say. Now that this topic had started, he didn't know how to get off of it without sounding uncomfortable. In the silence that followed that short sentence, Draco's mind went back to what he was doing here, and why. He felt his neck heat up as he thought about whether he was doing this for selfish reasons, or because he had no other choice. _Do I really_ have _no other choice?_ he asked himself desperately. _Is there even a difference between being selfish and being stuck?_ No, there wasn't, he decided. It was the same concept, not two separate options. Not only was he being selfish, but he didn't have another choice. It was this━ wind up dating Harry, as it looked like he had the possibility of doing, and wind up killing him in the end━ or lose everything he had, including a roof over his head. Which wasn't an option.

"I should probably head home," Draco said abruptly, getting up from the barstool he'd been sitting comfortably on for some time. Harry's head swung around to face him.

"You're leaving?" he asked, sounding confused. "I didn't mean to make things awkward, I just don't feel like talking about… certain things."

"That's not really━" Draco cut himself off and shook his head. "I'll see you tomorrow." He fished several galleons from his robe pocket and placed it on the table next to Harry's elbow, then swiftly left the pub.

Really, he had no idea how he was going to manage staying sane as well as following his mother's instructions. Every single part of Draco, every molecule in his body, was begging him to give this up, to forfeit, to tell his mother that he didn't care what the punishment would be, to just stop this awful charade and get rid of the anxiety that hardly left him these days.

Except for the small part of him that was the boy his parents had raised, the part that said he was being ridiculous and weak. That was the part of himself that took over every time he was in the presence of his parents, or those they associated with. Hell, even those they didn't, but could catch gossip from. He was forced to act on a regular basis, to keep up the pretense that he was a good little Malfoy, that he exists purely to follow in his parents' footsteps and abide by their every order, no matter how small. So, with that in mind, why couldn't he act in this case? Why couldn't he pretend that he was pursuing Harry and that he didn't have ulterior motives?

 _Because you_ do _want to pursue Harry, and you_ don't _want to kill him._ he reminded himself, as if he could forget. _Only half of this is a pretence, and it isn't the bit where you hope to develop something deeper with Harry. Only it'll never happen, if you go through with Mother's plan. You'll ruin everything, and along with that you'll remove one of the best parts of this world. You'll kill the person who enabled you, along with millions of others, to live a free life._

As Draco walked the long way home, feeling completely sobered despite the drinks he'd consumed, he struggled to accept the task he'd been given, struggled harder than he had the first day he'd come home from work. He needed to make his mind up about what he would do, and he needed to figure out a way to keep himself from going mad, regardless of what he chose.

* * *

Flabbergasted, Harry sat alone in the pub as he finished up his butterbeer. Draco had called it a 'child's drink,' but Harry still loved the frothy beverage. He still couldn't figure out why Draco had left in the hurry he had. _Probably what I said, even if he doesn't want to admit it,_ Harry reckoned. _He probably doesn't like it when people don't answer his questions._ Not that that bothered Harry. It wasn't his problem if Draco got upset because he wanted to keep his private life just that; private.

But if it wasn't something Harry said, then it was something he was unaware of, which did bother him. It shouldn't have, because he shouldn't care, but it did, and he couldn't figure out why.

"Are you finished, dear?" Helga asked sweetly as she took his empty plate and mug.

"Yes, I am," he said with a smile as he scooted Draco's money towards the barmaid. The three galleons would more than cover the drinks and leave a considerable tip as well. There was no sense in using his own money, but he had half a mind to give Draco his money back at work the next morning. "Thanks for the excellent service, as always, love."

"You're too kind." Helga winked at him, which exaggerated her crows feet tremendously. "Safe travels, and good evening." Harry nodded in reply as he got up to leave.

* * *

The following workweek went smoothly for both himself and Draco; all their paperwork was sorted and filed, several appointments had been made and several more had been gotten out of the way. Draco brought Harry coffee refills without needing to be asked, as always, and they had even started having lunch together in his office. The small talk throughout the rest of the day was bearable. It was becoming normal, for Harry. He had even started looking forward to seeing Draco every morning. Without meaning to, or Harry assumed so, Draco had made his work life much more enjoyable. He was typically in a good mood, and if he wasn't he kept his behaviour neutral. Well, for the most part. Harry had started to notice that something was off with his secretary. Draco would go from being chatty and amicable one moment to being closed off and seemingly bothered by something the next. He never explained what was wrong to Harry, when he asked, always putting it off to something unimportant causing the sudden change in behaviour. It was something he wanted to ask Draco about, but he didn't exactly know how to make him explain. If anyone could understand wanting to keep things to themselves, it was Harry.

Harry had been pondering how he could approach Draco with his concerns without being pushy when Draco came barging into his office with perspiration dotting his paler-than-usual forehead. Draco slammed the door behind him, which only added to Harry's concern. He'd never done that before.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked, standing up from his chair and crossing the room to Draco. He didn't appear to be hurt, at least.

"No," Draco answered simply. "I think… I think I need to go home early today." Harry nodded quickly.

"Of course you can. Is there something wrong? Are you sick? Did someone attack you?"

"Yes, something is wrong, but it's nothing you can help with." Draco sounded miserable, and looked worse than Harry had seen him in a long time. "I just need to go home."

"Go ahead," Harry agreed. "Let me know if there's anything I can do, alright? Feel better." Draco's face seemed to twist in pain, but he only turned around and left without saying another word. _I hope he's okay…_

Feeling strangely attached to the scene that had just unfolded in his office, Harry tried to focus on the work he had to do. There was a meeting in fifteen minutes with Josephine Wilburns to worry about. Draco would be fine.

* * *

Draco was not fine. He was not even close to alright. He'd been sitting at his desk, trying to keep his mind on the paperwork in front of him, but he couldn't stop obsessing over his mother's plot to murder Harry.

 _I don't think I can do this,_ he'd told himself suddenly. His eyesight had begun to blur and sting, and he knew he had to leave before anyone saw the weakness he was about to show in front of the entire department. So he'd requested the rest of the day off, and was no longer at work, but he knew he couldn't go home in this state. Instead, he was walking through a park near his house with a glamour on his face that made him unrecognizable, letting tears stream freely down his face.

 _I can't kill him. I can't do it. I need a way out. I need a way out._

But he honestly couldn't think of one, and it was driving him mad. _Of course I'm mad! I'm wandering around a fucking park, crying publicly!_ He had considered writing a letter anonymously to Harry, letting him know what his mother planned to do with him, but he knew that with Weasel in the Aurors Harry would easily be able to ask him to investigate. There were ways to find out who had written a letter, even if they'd never touched the parchment or quill used. 'Write it, regret it. Say it, forget it,' his father had always said. Except that wasn't even completely true, unless you planned to Obliviate someone. Draco wouldn't put it past his father to do such a thing.

 _That's just it!_ Draco thought, startling himself with how abruptly the idea came to him. _I can Obliviate Mother and Father, so that they have no recollection of this repulsive plot!_ But then, he'd never been good at Obliviating anyone. The only time he'd tried, it had nearly cost him his life. _And they would see it coming as soon as the plan formed in my brain. Or Mother would, at the very least._ No matter how good Draco became at Occlumency, his mother still knew what he was thinking more often than not. It was a bad plan, and Draco felt just as helpless, just as hopeless, as he did when he left the Ministry.

No matter what he thought of, no matter what plans he conceived, it would end badly. His parents would end up in Azkaban, or Harry would end up alive, but hating Draco even more than he had before, or Draco would be homeless and━

 _Homeless,_ Draco thought. _I work as the secretary of a social worker. If I wind up without a home, Harry would make sure that I don't stay homeless._ A smile grew on Draco's face as he realised that he did, in fact, have a way out. And a moment later, the smile was gone again. If he chose this path, if he chose to disclose everything his mother planned to Harry, he was simultaneously saying 'good riddance' to his parents, his upbringing, and what was left of his old life. _Not that I have much of that left anyhow,_ he reasoned. He couldn't imagine going through with this, he didn't want to have come as far as he had. _Too late for regrets, Draco,_ he warned. _But it's not too late to change what happens next._

* * *

"See you tomorrow," Harry called out to Tom as he left the practically deserted department. He sent his identifying spark over to the receiver across the way, clocking out, and went down to the Floo Room.

Harry was exhausted, not only because he'd wound up working four hours overtime because Draco had gone home early. He didn't realise he'd started caring so much about his secretary, but he had spent the remainder of the day after Draco had left worrying about him. No matter how many times he told himself that Draco was a prat and that he shouldn't care what was the matter with him, he couldn't convince himself that he really felt that way anymore. The truth of things was that Harry didn't think Draco was a prat anymore. He had changed dramatically since his unfinished Hogwarts years. That had been unexpected, certainly, especially with the way Draco had glared at him during that meeting, the first time they'd seen each other since the war. Harry thought that Draco was the same as always, that he would hate Harry until the day he died. Not a single thought in Harry's mind, over the years since the war, had considered that maybe he would end up enjoying Draco's company.

 _Things change as time goes by._ He sighed as he tossed a handful of Floo powder into one of the many Ministry connections and called out his own address. When he landed in the fireplace of his house and felt his immaculate, secure wards pop comfortingly around his person, he relaxed even more. Maybe Draco had just caught a stomach bug, or something like that. He was pale and sickly looking before he'd left. _You really need to stop thinking about Draco,_ he thought firmly.

Harry thought it would do him some good to take a long, hot shower to take his mind off of things. Instead of clearing his mind, however, it only made him more able to concentrate on Draco and his strange display at work that day. _There's something really wrong,_ Harry decided. _He's never acted like this, aside from sixth year._ It wasn't often that Harry thought back on that year, or any major details of his schooling, but he couldn't help letting his brain conjure up the strange way Draco had acted that year. Catching the Slytherin crying in the bathroom had been the only time he'd seen Draco so distraught. _I hope he's okay,_ he thought for the second time that day.

Out of the shower, dried off, and in clean pyjamas, Harry took a handful of Floo powder from the jar near the hearth and tossed it in to call Ron. The scorched logs released a few sparks as the flames turned from their typical orange, yellow, and red to green. He waited a few moments until Ron's head finally appeared before him in the fire.

"Harry," Ron said with a smile. "You're calling pretty late, you know." His smile transformed into a look of concern. "Everything okay?"

"For me, yeah," Harry said, and scowled before composing his demeanor. "How was work?"

Ron analyzed Harry's face for a moment before saying in a measured way, "Work was alright… What's going on? Who are things _not_ okay for?"

Cursing himself for his lack of subtlety, he reckoned he might as well talk to Ron about his worries. "Draco freaked out at work today."

"Mate, I told you it was a bad idea to hire him," Ron started, not bothering to ask _how_ Draco had freaked out. "It was only a matter of time before something like this happened." A pause. "What did happen?"

"Nothing like you're thinking. Something's bothering him lately, I can tell." Harry went on to explain all the odd things Draco had been doing the past week and then told his friend what exactly had happened at work that day.

"Sounds to me like he's got a stomach bug, or something." Harry didn't think it was possible for Ron to appear more detached. "You're thinking too hard on it."

"No, Ron, I can tell something serious is going on," Harry said resolutely. "He was fine the past three weeks, but this week he's been flip-flopping between being normal and being… weird."

"Malfoy's a weird bloke, though," Ron brushed off Harry's concern with a wave of his hand. "Listen, mate, just stop thinking about it. It won't fix anything to sit here worrying about him. Malfoy's an adult, he can handle himself."

"You're right," Harry agreed with a sigh. "I don't know what's got into me. I can't seem to stop caring about things I shouldn't."

"You've gone soft. If you'd just done Auror training with me, maybe you'd still have your edge." Ron raised his eyebrows and pinched his lips together before shaking his head. "But you decided to be a social worker instead. Why, I still haven't been able to work out. Seems like you're always stressed about something. S'not worth it, if you ask me."

"Well, I didn't ask you," Harry laughed. "You know why I chose this job instead. Or you should, with how many times I've had to explain myself."

"Right, right, I know." Ron took on the silly voice he always did when he was making fun of Harry. "'I need to help the victims of the war,' 'they're suffering without their hero, Harry Potter.'" Scoffing, he resumed his normal voice. "I've heard it all. Again, I say, you've gone soft."

"If wanting to help people means I've gone soft, then I've been a feather all my life," Harry joked, feeling better just laughing with his best friend. "Though, I'm not sure how being an Auror would make my life any less stressful."

"Well…" Ron trailed off and appeared to be struggling to come up with a decent counter argument. "Alright, maybe it wouldn't, but we would be able to hang out more often."

"I miss you, too, Ron," Harry said in an overly sweet way, and imagined that the darker green tint to Ron's cheeks was actually pink on the other side of the flames.

"I never said I missed you, just that I never get to see you," he said defensively. "Hermione's the one who misses you, not me."

"Sure, my mistake." There was no conviction in his tone whatsoever. "How's she doing, by the way? It's been a while since I've seen her. Or talked to her, for that matter." Harry actually felt somewhat guilty for not making more of an effort to reach out to his other best friend.

"Ask her yourself," Ron said before disappearing from the flames. He was replaced only a moment later by Hermione's stern looking face and bushy hair.

"Harry," she began in a tone just as reproving as her face. "Have you been avoiding me? You know I would've given you the chance to explain yourself for hiring Malfoy. As much as I don't understand your decision━ because you never bothered _bringing it up_ ━ I'm sure you've got your reasons━"

"Hermione━"

"━ And I don't see why you never Floo _me_ to chat," the incensed witch continued. "I know you're busy with work, but if you've managed to find the time to Floo Ron, there should be no━"

"Hermione!"

"━ reason you can't find a moment for me. I can't tell you how many times I've tried to Floo you and got no response. It really seems like you're avoiding me, though I can't see why..."

Harry resigned himself to patiently waiting for Hermione to finish her harangue, no longer feeling as bad as he had for not contacting her sooner. _Though I probably could've avoided this if I had tried harder to talk to her._

"Now, if you would please," Hermione said with a huff of breath, "explain yourself, Harry Potter."

Thankful that she was no longer shouting at him, Harry said, "I'm sorry for not trying to talk to you sooner. I should've told you that I planned to hire Draco, or at least told you _when_ he was hired. That's my fault, and you've every right to be upset with me, though I wasn't intentionally keeping information from you. And no, I'm not avoiding you." He tilted his head in warning as Hermione made to interrupt him. "I'm _not_ ," he repeated firmly, "I'm just forgetful. You know this."

Hermione seemed to consider his apology a moment before relaxing her pinched mouth into a small, hesitant smile. "I can see you mean that. I didn't mean to yell at you, Harry, I just missed you. It's been more than a month since we've spoken. And you don't really have to explain why you hired Malfoy; Ron told me you only did it to help him financially and to get revenge." Her face became calculating at her own mention of Harry's nonexistent revenge. "Though I'm not sure that's a smart way to go about things. You really should let go of the past. He's probably nothing like he used to be, and if he was you'd have fired him by now. I know you better than that."

"Er, actually," Harry started, trailing off after a moment as he tried to find the right way to explain. "I'm not really… Ron's mistaken about the revenge. I sort of just let him think that I was planning revenge so he'd stop whinging about me hiring Draco."

"What the fuck, mate?" Ron's shout came from somewhere far-away sounding.

"Sorry!" Harry called back. He saw Hermione was stifling a laugh by biting her lip and had to prevent himself as well. "Anyway, I'm not completely sure why I hired Draco, aside from the financial thing, which is true. But he's been a great addition to the department. Kingsley already gave him a raise, he's been doing so well."

"Hmm," said Hermione thoughtfully, an air of surprise present in her tone. "That's quite different from how I anticipated things going. No offense, but I thought you two would be at each other's throats in no time at all. I'm glad I was wrong, in this case."

"Me too."

For a while Harry and Hermione talked about Draco, though Harry didn't bring up his worries again throughout the entire conversation, until their talk moved on to other things. It was nice catching up with his friends after so long going without it. Harry hadn't realised how stressed he'd been until he finally had the chance to release some of it with his friends. _I'll have to keep in mind that they're still here for me, even if we do have our own lives and problems._

Harry went to bed that night with a much more positive outlook on life, though he couldn't seem to prevent his thoughts from straying back to Draco before sleep finally took him. _Ron's right, though. He's grown enough to handle whatever is going on. Best to mind my own business._

* * *

"You're trying to ruin us, Draco," Narcissa said, her voice barely above a whisper. The volume of her words was no comfort, however; Draco knew his mother never yelled. Instead, her voice would become softer and more threatening the more upset she grew. Draco also knew that right now he had made her dangerously irate.

"I would never," Draco defended, trying to keep the whine his mother loathed from entering his voice. "Mother, there has to be another way to regain our financial stability. I can't go through with this━ I can't kill him."

"You can, and you will." Narcissa rose from the armchair she'd transfigured to mirror the one she used to love, but had to sell. "You play a very treacherous game, threatening to disobey me this way. I won't have it." She turned to face the doorway to the sitting room and said with a vicious grin, "Ah, Lucius. Our son has just informed me that he doesn't intend to follow through. Surely this displeases you as much as it does me."

Draco turned around to face his father, doing his best to keep his mother in his periphery. He may not be in immediate danger━ _who am I kidding? I was in danger the moment I decided to do this━_ but his instincts told him not to let Narcissa go completely out of view.

"Father," he began, pleading with his eyes for the man to see reason. "Surely you can understand why I can't finish this task." _Please, please understand,_ he silently begged.

But Lucius wasn't even acknowledging Draco's presence. His eyes stayed on his wife, his expression unreadable. This was also a sign that things were not going well for Draco; though Lucius kept his innermost feelings from exposing themselves to others, his son was usually privy to them in some way, whether it be the miniscule twist to his lip, a twitch of his eye, or something to that tune. It was becoming painfully obvious that Draco was in more trouble than he had previously predicted.

"You jest," Lucius said without inflection. "We have raised him to be better than this, stronger than this… Smarter than this."

"I'm afraid Draco has taken it upon himself to disappoint us, darling. He's refused."

"We can't have that, now can we?" Lucius asked in faux solicitude. Finally his eyes landed on Draco, and the younger Malfoy thought that, for a split second, he may have a chance to level with his father. That is, until he heard the word, " _Imperio_."

* * *

"Morning, Draco," Harry said as he passed by the secretary desk, stopping for their morning chat. "Are you feeling better today?"

"Perfectly fine," Draco said in a mellow tone. He did seem much more relaxed than he had before, that was certain. "Shall I go get your tea?"

Harry felt his eyebrows tilt downward. "I don't drink tea in the mornings, Draco, you know that."

"Right, how stupid of me." Draco rolled his eyes at himself and stood up from his desk. "How would you like your coffee this morning?"

 _Something's off about him,_ Harry thought as he gazed curiously at his secretary. _It's not my business._ Harry continued looking at Draco, attempting to discern what was different. For a split second he thought he could see Draco's eyes take on a strange, milky tint, but it was for such a short moment he couldn't be sure he'd seen properly. _I really shouldn't be paying this much attention to him. It's not my business, whatever he's going through,_ Harry tried to reason. _But it couldn't hurt to test something out…_ "The same as usual, please."

"Of course," said Draco with a chuckle. "I'll have it for you right away."

 _So much for our morning chat._ Harry let his eyes follow Draco's movements, which were just as they'd been the day before, until he was out of sight. Maybe he was overthinking things, but he could swear he had seen something in Draco's eyes glaze over in that short spec of time. _You're losing it, Harry,_ he told himself firmly before shaking his head and unwarding his office.

He'd just begun sorting through files and writing a list of people to Floo before lunch when Draco returned with a mug of black coffee. Harry did his best to keep his expression neutral while Draco set the mug down and waited expectantly for approval.

"Thanks, Draco," Harry said, flashing a short-lived grin. "That's all for now."

"Not a problem. Let me know if you need anything else." Draco left the room, not even bothering to try sparking a conversation to make up for the one they hadn't had a bit earlier.

Suspicious as ever, Harry decided that one more major difference in Draco's behaviour would give him an excuse to confront him about it. _If he doesn't bring me a refill without prompting, I'll know._

In the meantime, Harry had work to do. He stood up from his desk and went to the fireplace to Floo Brasch Blithers. Though Harry's mind was occupied with the man in front of him in the flames, it didn't go unnoticed that Draco failed to bring him a coffee refill when he normally would.

* * *

If Draco tried any harder to push off his father's control, he was sure to suffer permanent brain damage. A large portion of Draco didn't even want to bother trying to take over; it felt rather nice, not having to feel stress about, well, anything. All of the terrible sickness he'd been feeling about having to go through with… something important that he couldn't bring himself to recall, had gone the moment his father's curse had struck him, leaving him with the lovely sense of floating freely within himself. He could still see what he was doing, he could hear every order his father gave him through the connection of the Imperius Curse, and somewhere, deep in his subconscious, he knew it was wrong to give in. _It feels so good to let go, though,_ he thought as he watched his hands flip through files.

 _NO! You have to get your body back!_ the more-aware Draco screamed. _You can't let this continue! Fight back, damn it! Fight back!_

He would, he promised himself. Just… maybe later, when he felt like he'd had a long enough break. It really did feel marvelous. Perhaps he would thank his father for relieving him of the pain he'd been in. He couldn't remember why it was so important that he fight back, or why he'd been in pain, anyhow. Was it really so detrimental that he had to stop feeling this wonderful? Perhaps not.

"Draco, I thought you said you'd give Esther these papers." Harry's voice sounded more distant than it usually did, but Draco wasn't worried about that. He looked up at Harry's face, which was full of concern mingled with something else he couldn't identify. In his hands he held several papers.

 _Apologise,_ Lucius' voice demanded. His voice was much closer. _Tell him you'll take care of it immediately._

"My apologies," Draco said pleasantly. "I'll go deliver them now." He stood up and reached for the papers Harry held, only for Harry to pull his hand away at the last moment.

"Wait, Draco…" Harry seemed to have something important to say. Draco waited eagerly to hear it. Well, as eager as one could feel when they were seemingly floating down a river made of pure silk. Draco felt he could wait for anything, for as long as he needed to, so long as he felt like this while he waited. "Can I talk to you a moment in my office?"

 _Go with him,_ Lucius directed.

"Of course." Draco followed Harry back from whence he'd come, forgetting completely about Esther's papers in the process. He watched as Harry sat down behind his desk and heard the clicking of a door closing, somewhere. _Harry is so handsome,_ Draco thought in a distracted way. _Such pretty eyes… hair…_

"Er… you can sit down, you know." Harry's voice penetrated the fog Draco had entered once again.

 _Pay more attention!_ Lucius shouted. Draco's vision suddenly focused more, his hearing went back to normal. Or what he thought was normal. _Talk to him, but do not tell him anything of your condition._

"I'm sorry," Draco said as he took the chair across from Harry. "Is something wrong?"

"I don't know, is there?"

"What do you mean?" _He means you've been a complete wanker all day, fucking up at every turn!_ Draco yelled at himself. _Try harder,_ please! _You_ need _to snap out of this!_ He promised the angry part of himself that he would, he really would, just not right now.

"You've been acting strangely all day, Draco," Harry began, his eyes showing that he was disturbed in some way. "I know it hasn't been very long since we got here, but… what happened to you? You left work yesterday in a panic, looking like hell, and you come back today seeming better, but forgetting the simplest things. You didn't make a single mistake for weeks, and in one day you've managed to make five, that I've counted so far, and it's not even lunch." Draco's head tilted to the side a bit as he listened to Harry. He did make a good argument. Maybe something was wrong with him.

 _Tell him that nothing has changed,_ came his father's voice again. _Sooth his fears; he must not know._

"Nothing's happened, Harry," Draco said in a manner he thought sounded convincingly genuine. "I'm just having an off day, I think. I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not upset, it's just…" Harry paused, then seemed to think better of whatever he'd been about to say. "If you need to talk to someone, I'm here. You don't have to worry about anything you tell me getting spread around; I know what it's like to have personal information exploited."

"I really appreciate that, Harry, but━" _Nothing is wrong. Tell him,_ Lucius ordered. "Nothing's wrong, so I don't have much to discuss with you." For a while, Harry stared at Draco as if he were debating whether or not he had been told the truth. _Tell him the truth, you blundering prat!_ Angry Draco screamed. _Tell him Father's commanding you! Tell him!_ Draco suddenly had a clear passage of thought. His face twisted in despair and he knew he didn't have long before Lucius would regain jurisdiction over his faculties. "Harry, I'm being━" _SILENCE!_ Lucius thundered, from everywhere inside Draco's mind, and once again Draco was enveloped in the calming sensation of the curse. He didn't know if he would get another chance like that again, but did it really matter? Trying to overpower Lucius had been painful, and hadn't he experienced enough pain to last a lifetime already? _Yes, I have. It feels so much better to just let this go. So much better…_

"What is it?" Harry leaned forward, urgency painting his words and attitude alike.

 _Make an excuse━ a believable one,_ his father said.

"I'm being an idiot. I'm not sure why I've been so forgetful today, but I'll bring those papers to Esther and try not to mess up anymore." Harry's face fell in disappointment, but there was still a lingering fear in those green eyes.

"You're sure?" He reached a hand towards Draco, only to let it fall to the wooden desk halfway. His fingers curled into a tight fist, speaking his vexation wordlessly, but Draco didn't think that was as important as Angry Draco probably would. "If something's wrong, please tell me."

 _Nothing is wrong._ "Nothing is wrong." _Take the papers and go._ Draco took the papers and left the office.

* * *

"Kingsley, I have some disturbing information." Harry spoke quietly into the green flames, not trusting the muffling charm he'd cast completely.

"What is it, Harry?" the Minister asked, leaning forward, as if that would allow him to hear better.

"I've noticed that Draco's been acting oddly this past week. Like he has something he's struggling with, but he won't talk about it. Yesterday he went home early, as you know, and was in a right state before he left. Ron told me he was probably just ill, but he came in to work today looking as chipper as always. Then, just a few minutes ago…" Harry struggled to put into words, what had just happened in his office.

"Go on, Harry." Kingsley didn't sound as though he cared an awful lot about what Harry was telling him. He hoped that would change by the time he finished explaining.

Sighing, Harry decided it would be best to start with what had happened that morning. He told Kingsley about all the things Draco had done wrong, starting with the morning chat and ending with the documents that hadn't been delivered to their proper destination.

"Well, it sounds to me that he's simply distracted," Kingsley said with a shrug.

"No, it's more than that. I just had a conversation with him, and there were a couple times when his eyes would turn… I don't know how to describe it… Whitish? Like he had a film over his eyes, or something." Finally, Kingsley seemed to take what Harry was saying seriously. His brows tilted down in the centre at the same time that he frowned. "I confronted him about his mistakes today and he seemed sort of dazed. When I told him he could talk to me about whatever was wrong, even though he said nothing was, he declined at first. Then, after a moment, he started looking as if he were in pain and he said 'I'm being,' but cut himself off." Harry shook his head. "He got that passive look back and told me he was being an idiot."

"Don't leave your office, Harry," Kingsley said gravely. "I'm going to send some Aurors to your department to handle the situation."

"Aurors━ do you really think that's necessary?" Panic flooded Harry's system at the Minister's statement.

"If my guess is accurate, and I fear it might be, Draco is under the Imperius Curse." Harry felt his eyes widen a great deal. "You said that he had a sort of film over his eyes?"

"He did, but only once or twice━"

"That's what happens when someone attempts to fight against the Imperius, Harry. We can't know who's doing this to him, or if they intend to harm you or the other employees."

"Then shouldn't I━"

"Stay where you are," Kingsley told him firmly before the Floo disconnected.

 _What the fuck?_ was all Harry could manage to think. Could Draco really be under the Imperius curse? It seemed as likely a possibility as any, at this point. Harry couldn't imagine that Draco would act this way so suddenly without being forced to, so maybe he was being controlled.

Thinking over the oddities of the past week, and particularly the past day and a half, Harry waited in his office and listened for the sounds of Aurors. It didn't take longer than a couple minutes before he could hear the sounds of multiple pairs of dragon hide boots jogging towards his office. He heard one of them shout something, then heard a loud bang. Glass shattered somewhere outside his office and a man could be heard screaming in fear as Harry brandished his wand, taking up a defensive position behind his desk, just in case. For extra precaution, Harry cast a ward around his office. He didn't like thinking of Draco as the enemy━ _I wonder when that change took place━_ but if he really was under the effects of the Imperius, Harry couldn't be too careful.

"Get down!" someone screamed, and again a crash resounded.

A metallic object smashed against Harry's office door and then everything went silent. Deciding he needed to know what was happening, he slowly crossed the room to the door of his office, his wand at the ready. Quietly, Harry cracked the door open, just wide enough that he could peek out. Through the gap, he saw that Draco's desk had been flipped over, Laurelie was crouching down near the water cooler, and Draco was unconscious as he was dragged from the department. Worry caused a pit to form in Harry's rib cage when he noticed the trickle of blood flowing from Draco's forehead.

* * *

Pain was all Draco could feel as he opened his eyes. Bright lights caused him to instantly shut them again, however, and his head throbbed with a vengeance. He could _feel_ , though, and that could only mean that Lucius had finally let go of him, even if he had been forced to.

"Ah, you're awake finally," someone said. Draco attempted to speak, but his throat was too dry, his pain to intense. "You might want to drink this, if you want to get this over with sooner."

A glass bottle was pressed into the palm of Draco's hand, and he managed to find the strength to grip it. His entire body was sore, as though he'd been run over by a hoard of centaurs. Not even bothering to ask what was in the bottle, he brought his arm up and pressed the mouth of the glass to his own. It didn't matter that some of the liquid trickled down his jaw and neck, not when his pain was subsiding with every gulp.

"Go ahead and try again," the man said. Yes, it was a man, and he sounded familiar, though Draco couldn't quite figure out why.

Draco opened his eyes, expecting his headache to return full-force. It didn't, thankfully, which allowed him to search out the person who had been speaking to him. Confusion turned his brain even further to slop as his gaze fell on Neville Longbottom.

"What are━" Draco cleared his throat when the only sound he'd made was a rasp and tried again. "What are you doing here?" Longbottom chuckled.

"I'm here to interrogate you," he explained calmly. _Who is this person and what has he done with Longbottom?_ "You won't mind answering a few questions, will you?" Draco shook his head, not quite able to trust his voice yet. "Right. You were under the Imperius Curse, weren't you?" In fear, Draco was about to shake his head once more, but Longbottom held up a hand. "Don't bother trying to lie. We'll have to use Veritaserum, if we think you might be. I'm not sure if you know this, but if you have been under the Imperius, taking Veritaserum could lead to extensive brain damage." Longbottom paused a moment to let that information sink in. "So I'll ask a final time: were you under the Imperius Curse?"

"Yes," Draco croaked.

"Thought you might be more willing to cooperate, given that tidbit of information," Longbottom said with a lopsided grin. "Mind telling me who cast it?"

Draco closed his eyes, not because of pain, but because he knew there was no way of avoiding telling the truth, unless he wanted to become a braindead fool. "My father."

"Well, now. That's not the answer I was expecting, though I wouldn't put it past him. Can you tell me why he did this?"

"I… I don't remember… Why can't I remember?" he mumbled to himself. He searched his brain for something that felt just out of reach. It was like there was a black hole living in the timeline of his memories.

"Try again, Malfoy." Draco looked up at Longbottom, his eyes wide in fear.

"I can't remember. I know it's important, but it's not there." Draco's breathing began to pick up as he strained to pick apart the black spot in his mind. "Something happened━ someone's taken an important memory from me."

"Why should I believe you? What if you're just telling me this to stretch out the interrogation process? You do realise that it won't do any good. It'll only make matters worse for you in the long run." Longbottom grinned, as though this was inconsequential.

"I can prove it," Draco said urgently. "I wrote━ something? I wrote a note about… the thing that's missing." He shook his head as words began to fail him. "It's in my room, I can picture it, I just━ I can't━ _fuck!_ " His hands clutched the side of his head as the pain potion Longbottom had given him began to wear off. It was either a weak potion or trying to access the absent memory had caused it to lose potency more quickly.

"We'll see if you're telling the truth, I suppose," Longbottom said as he began walking towards the exit of the small room. "For your sake, I hope you are."

* * *

It was with a heavy heart that Harry made his way to the Minister's office. One day had passed since Draco's arrest, but Harry still couldn't stop wondering what was really going on. Had Draco been under the Imperius the entire time they'd been reacquainted? Was the Draco Harry thought he'd come to know not really who he seemed? It was hard to believe that Draco had changed so much in a year and a half, so maybe he had been forced to act that way. Harry didn't want that to be true; he'd started to enjoy the company of the once-snobbish wizard. As far as he knew, however, Draco didn't have a very strong will when it came to anyone besides his family or himself. If his father really had put him under the Imperius Curse, Draco would most likely have no reason to fight against him, and wouldn't be able to conjure up the willpower to do so. At least, the Draco that Harry used to know wouldn't. _I don't think… Maybe he only acted that way in school because of his parents. Maybe he did or said something recently that his parents didn't approve of, and that's what got him into this situation. But why would they need to go to such lengths to make sure he did their bidding?_ Harry stifled a sigh as his knuckles met the door to Kingsley's office. _I suppose I'm here to find out more. No use worrying, as Ron would say._

"Come in, Harry," came the Minister's reply, muffled by the wooden door between them. Harry stepped into the office, expecting the intense look on Kingsley's face before he saw it.

"You wanted to speak to me?" Harry inquired as he took his usual seat. "Do you have anymore news about Draco's situation?"

"I do," he confirmed. Harry felt his stomach tie itself in a knot as he awaited more explanation. "Neville disclosed that he believes Draco's memories have been stolen. Or one of them has, at the very least. A team of Aurors has been sent to the Malfoy home to investigate, but they haven't come back as of yet."

"He's been Obliviated? Why would his father Obliviate him?"

"That's what we're trying to find out━" A knock on the door interrupted the Minister. "Come in," he bellowed.

Turning around, Harry saw two older Aurors step in. They stood stiffly near the now closed door and waited for permission to speak. Harry wondered why he wasn't expected to act this way with the Minister, but decided it had to do with their involvement in the Order. Not many people━ at least living people━ knew Kingsley on such a personal level.

"Well, boys?" Kingsley asked, sounding a bit impatient. "Go on, fill me in."

"Yes, Minister Shacklebolt," the two Aurors said in unison. Even with the weight of the situation, Harry wanted to laugh at the dour manner of the Aurors. Though, when one of the Aurors stepped forward to give the report, Harry paid close attention.

"We searched the Malfoy house top to bottom. Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy allowed us to do so with no fuss or fight, thankfully. We only found these. It's the only solid evidence we could get." The Auror levitated over a piece of torn parchment and a phial containing some silvery liquid, letting them land on the Minister's desk.

"Sir, if I may…" The other Auror stepped forth, then, before Kingsley could take the parchment in front of him.

"Yes?"

"Before you read that, I think it's important to explain why we didn't arrest the Malfoys on the spot." Kingsley's brows dipped in befuddlement, but he waved the Auror on. "We can't know whether these were planted there for us to find. In my most respectful opinion, Sir, I feel we need to research the nature of this letter and view the memory, maybe even question Malfoy a bit more about it, before we take action."

"Allow me to read before I comment," Kingsley said in a low voice as he picked up the parchment.

For a moment, all was silent in the office, aside from the soft sounds of several people breathing. Harry grew anxious with every lift or fall of Kingsley's expressive eyebrows, and he wondered what he could possibly be reading. Then Harry's eyes moved to the phial in front of him. It clearly contained a memory, there was no mistaking that. Harry hoped that it was the memory Draco was currently missing, but didn't let his hopes get up, even as the Minister handed the parchment over with a cryptic sigh.

Harry looked down at the parchment in his hands and began reading, knowing he wouldn't stop feeling trepidation about these things any time soon.

 _I'm writing this in the hopes that, should anything happen to me, this will protect me and Harry, both. I've decided against following my parents' wishes, and I can't know what the repercussions will be, though I know they won't be beneficial to either of us._

 _Harry, please know that I never wanted to hurt you. In all these weeks, I've been granted the ability to know you better, to see what you're like when we're not in the midst of a childish rivalry… It's too bad that it hasn't been done with honest intentions. How I wish I could've done it of my own volition, with no ulterior motives. You don't know how much I wish…_

 _And now I'm faced with the decision I've made, I find myself dreading the moment when you see the memory I've left with this note and discover what I've been made to do, what I had to agree to do. You'll never trust me again, if you've already started to. I know this. Still, isn't that better than the alternative?_

 _I don't think I could live with myself, had I gone through with things. I know I couldn't. And so I'm writing this to you, I'm giving you the memory that I hope will ensure your safety, no matter what happens to me. If you never want to see me again, I'll understand. Just as long as you're alive, I'll survive._

 _-Draco Malfoy_

Harry looked up from the letter, his brain addled due to the message in his hands. What did Draco mean when he wrote 'Just as long as you're alive, I'll survive?' Did he think Harry was going to die for some reason? And what alternative was he referring to? Harry's death seemed the most likely candidate, but he didn't want to believe that Draco could possibly have the wherewithal to actually kill him. Apparently, Draco didn't want to believe it either.

"Well?" Kingsley asked, drawing Harry's gaze away from the neat handwriting that had consumed his thoughts. "What do you think this could mean, Harry?"

"I━ er, that is, I━" Harry tried to sort himself out mentally before speaking again, not wanting to sound more like a git than he already was. Taking a deep breath, he started again. "I'm not certain, and I don't think any of us will be until we view the memory here."

"You said that Draco hadn't spoken to you about the thing that was bothering him." It wasn't a question, but Harry nodded in affirmation anyway. "Then you don't have an idea about what he's referring to when he mentions going through with things."

"I don't."

"I'd like to view the memory," Kingsley said, standing up from his chair. "And I'd like you to accompany me."

Harry stood up as Kingsley dismissed the Aurors and thanked them for providing adequate information to work with, then followed him from the office. Together they took a lift to the nearest courtroom, going silently all the way. Meanwhile, Harry's mind was running rampant, stuck on the letter he'd read, which he still held tightly in his hand. If he could've walked as read at the same time, he would be doing so, but Harry was clumsy at the best of times, even when he was paying full attention to where he was headed.

When they reached courtroom four Kingsley led the way to a small chamber that was connected to the room. Inside was a single Pensieve hovering above a wooden desk, and nothing else. Harry cracked his knuckles as he watched Kingsley pour the memory into the basin, letting it mingle with the liquid inside it for a moment.

"Ready?" The Minister turned towards Harry expectantly and Harry forced himself to step forward towards the Pensieve.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

They plunged their heads into the Pensieve and were pulled down into it. Harry closed his eyes during the falling sensation. When he opened them again he was back in the Malfoy household, watching dinner take place, he and Kingsley standing near Draco. He could see the look of utter subservience on Draco's face, but now that he knew Draco a bit better, or so he thought, he had a hard time being convinced by it. Narcissa began speaking to Draco, first bringing up her new subject carefully, trying to see how he would react to it. Draco didn't react at all, as far as Harry could see. _There's no way he acts like this all the time around them,_ Harry thought. _It's unnatural, like he's emotionless._ It was sort of creepy to witness the way Draco responded to Narcissa's subtle hints with 'yes, Mother,' and 'of course, Mother.' That wasn't what Draco had probably intended for Harry to focus on when he witnessed this, but in the end that's what took up most of Harry's attention.

Until Narcissa began outrightly explaining what she wanted Draco to do, that is. The way her eyes shone with pride in her thought-out ploy to get the Malfoys back on their feet was sickening to Harry.

"Do not think me blind, son. I have seen the way your eyes lit up when you spoke of him during your years of education," Narcissa said, her mouth twisted in a grin fit for a goblin at Gringotts catching a thief.

Harry's face took on a look of bewilderment at her words, but before he could think too hard on it, she went on.

"I have witnessed the difficulty with which you refrained from speaking his name. I am also aware of the possessiveness that is in the Malfoy man's nature━ something you must control in this, a situation so delicate. You will capture his attention, make him seek you out without knowing why. Give no hint that there may be hidden motives behind your efforts."

"So that's what he's been doing," Harry whispered to himself.

He felt like he was about to be sick. How could he have been so stupid, so blind? His eyes moved to Draco's face. Harry was searching for some sign, even a small one, that Draco felt this was wrong, abusing Harry's trust this way. There was none. Harry's mouth bent in disgust. No, he didn't feel _strongly_ attached to Draco at this point, but he very easily could've gone down that route, with the way Draco had played him. In the back of Harry's head he could hear Narcissa's irritating laugh. She had said something about marrying him. Harry barely paid attention to Narcissa's rambling as he scrutinised Draco's face, intent on finding one single shred of his true feelings about his mother's words.

"... his untimely death."

"What?" There it was! Draco let his wineglass go too early and with it his mask of indifference. An anguish similar to the one Harry had witnessed when he's tried to question Draco in his office sparked fiercely in Draco's sterling eyes, and showed no signs of going away.

Narcissa had continued speaking by this point, but Harry couldn't look away from Draco's tormented expression. This was what he'd been searching for; some kind of confirmation that Draco _could_ be trusted, that he meant what he'd said about not wanting to hurt Harry… that Harry hadn't been wrong to care for him.

"There's no other way," Narcissa said, and the memory faded out, allowing Harry and Kingsley to remove their heads from the Pensieve.

Kingsley collected the memory and replaced it in the glass phial Draco had put it in, then turned to regard Harry.

"It would appear that the Aurors made a lapse in judgement when they refrained from arresting the Malfoys." Harry was too stunned by the contents of the memory he'd witnessed to respond verbally and nodded his head slowly in agreement. Kingsley began walking and talking, Harry following behind him in a daze that allowed him to listen, though just barely. "I'd like you to set Draco up with secure housing, somewhere unbeknownst to others. It will be put under Fidelius, and you'll be the secret keeper. He'll be kept in holding until you've managed that." Kingsley threw a glance over his shoulder at Harry and halted, suddenly. "Are you alright?"

Trying to speak, Harry's voice came out as a catching sound. He cleared his throat and said, "I'll be fine."

"If it helps you feel any better, I'm going to have a team of Aurors ward your house more strongly, and one or two will be made to keep watch. We may be able to arrest the Malfoys with no trouble, but until they've been caught I don't want you wandering outside of home or work without protection. Is that clear?" It was rare that Kingsley used such a stern tone with Harry, and the fact that he was using such a tone now spoke volumes to him.

"Crystal," Harry confirmed. "Though… I'd like to visit Draco before I get back to work, if that's alright." He needed time to think about what he'd just seen, but he had too many questions. Those questions would go unanswered until he spoke to Draco, which would inevitably distract him from getting any work done.

"Take this with you. I have a feeling you'll need it." Kingsley handed Harry the phial with Draco's memory enclosed before turning and walking away.

* * *

 **A/N#2: If you would leave a review I'd be grateful! It's really nice to hear from readers about their thoughts, not to mention it helps the writing process.**


	3. Quicksand

**A/N: Hi there, readers! I'd like to first thank everyone who's read this story and followed/favourited it. It means a lot to me. It would mean just as much if those of you who are enjoying the story would leave a bit of feedback for me, as it really does offer motivation. I obviously don't make any money off of this, so my 'payment' comes from the reviews you all leave :). I didn't get any for chapter 2, so I'm hoping this chapter will bring about some reviews.  
There's one small Hufflepuff bash somewhere in this chapter, but I hope no one will take it personally. I don't discriminate against any of the Houses, but we all know that Draco is a hardcore Slytherin and that the HP characters have been known for a bit of House-stereotyping. **

* * *

In what could've been an entire day━ or maybe two, as far as Draco knew━ nobody had come to see him or interrogate him after Longbottom left. He'd been laying on his cot, bored out of his mind, humming to himself when the large metal door unlatched loudly and swung open, admitting Harry. Draco sat up in his cot, tossing the scratchy blanket off of him at the sight of the man.

"Harry," he breathed in relief. In a rush, he began the apology he'd had all planned out. "I'm so sorry, I tried to tell you what was happening, but I couldn't get enough control."

"It's okay, really," Harry said as he leaned against the stone wall. "Well, it's not okay, but…" Harry shook his head, giving up on trying to clarify. "I saw your memory." He pulled a glass phial from the pocket of his robes and tossed it to Draco.

"This is what's missing," he whispered as he inspected the contents of the bottle. Draco patted the pockets of his robes before remembering he'd had his wand confiscated. "I can't put it back."

Harry took his own wand from his pocket and sat down beside Draco. He took the phial back from Draco and uncorked it, then lifted it from the bottle with his wand. When the memory entered his head, Draco felt as though he were an apple with a worm crawling to its centre, a very uncomfortable thing; However, when the memory sank back into place where once there had been a black patch, he felt whole again.

"Thank you," he whispered. "I wanted to tell you sooner. I didn't mean for any of this to happen." Harry's hand came up to rest on Draco's shoulder, causing him to start at the contact.

"I understand why you couldn't tell me," Harry said. "I'm just glad that you didn't decide to go through with your mother's plans." There was a pause, in which Harry seemed to be struggling to speak whatever thoughts were going through his head. Apparently he decided it was best to be forward and said, "I just don't get why you would agree to something like this in the first place. It doesn't make sense to me. We may have been enemies in school, but I didn't think you hated me enough to agree to do something so… so fucked up.

"She wanted you to marry me," he continued, looking down at his wand, which was twisting in his fingers. "To spend a large portion of your life trying to catch me and convince me to be with you, just so you could kill me in the end. That's the most ridiculous, long-term murder scheme I've ever heard of, aside from what Voldemort was trying to do to me." Draco flinched against the sound of that name, but Harry pressed on regardless, not seeming to care. "When I first started watching your memory I was disgusted with you. I thought that all the trust I'd put in you, that I'd started caring about you, even if just a little, was for nothing. I felt betrayed.

"But then I saw your face when your mother finally said she wanted you to kill me in the end." Harry looked up at Draco, then, and the relief in his gaze was unmistakable. "That's when I knew that you weren't just some mindless automaton, doing whatever your parents asked of you. That's when I knew that I'd been right to trust you and care about you━ just a bit." Harry exhaled and shook his head. "But I need to know why. Why agree to a plan that could've taken years to fulfill, Draco?"

It took Draco a long while to figure out what to say to all of that. He'd expected Harry to shout at him when he'd discovered what Draco had been planning to do━ _what_ Mother _was planning to do━_ and tell him he never wanted to see him again. Well, in reality, Draco hadn't expected to ever get the chance to hear Harry tell him those things; he'd assumed Harry would be so appalled by him that he wouldn't bother coming tell him anything at all. That Harry was here, telling him that he trusted and cared for him, was beyond imaginable. And now Harry wanted to know why he'd done as much as he had, even if he was glad Draco hadn't gone through with things completely. How was he supposed to explain?

Thankfully, Harry waited through Draco's silence for whatever was to come next. He had a countenance of absolute patience, which enabled Draco to think through his reply thoroughly, without feeling he had to rush and risk making a fool of himself.

"I don't know," was the shitty reply he came up with. _So much for not making a fool of myself._ "I can't tell you why I agreed to it because I don't know. I didn't think I had another choice. When Mother came to me with her plan I felt sick, and even weeks after I'd started working here, up until the day I told her I couldn't do it, I continued to feel that way. For over a month I debated whether or not I could do it, wishing that there was a way out. I didn't see one until yesterday, and that didn't end very well." Draco frowned and shook his head. "I'm probably going to Azkaban. I deserve as much. But if going to Azkaban keeps you alive, I'll do it."

"You're not going to Azkaban, Draco. Kingsley wants me to set you up with housing under the Fidelius Charm. I'll be your secret keeper." Harry offered Draco a thin smile that only looked slightly forced. "I guess I can see where you're coming from. If I had your parents I'd be scared to disobey them, too. I'll be honest, though. It's going to take a while for me to trust you again."

A large grin spread across Draco's face because that meant that Harry was willing to let him build that trust. It was better than Draco could've hoped for. He was being given a second chance, and this time he could take it without fear or guilt. This time, he would keep his motives pure, and nobody could tell him otherwise. _Except, perhaps, Harry._

"That's more than I could've expected," said Draco.

"You can thank me later. I have to get going, though," Harry said as he stood up. "I've got your housing to figure out, and works already piling up with you gone."

"I can't go back to work? Am I fired?"

"No, you're not fired. But in order to keep you safe from your parents, Kingsley wants you to stay here. You can come back to work as soon as your mum and dad have been caught." Draco's brows turned downward at that news.

"What's going to happen to them once they've been arrested?"

"They'll go through the trial process. They're probably both going to prison." Draco nodded and swallowed. He knew they wouldn't be incarcerated for very long and hoped that whatever housing the Ministry was setting him up with would truly keep his parents from finding him. "We're doing what we can to keep you protected. You'll be okay."

"Thank you so much, Harry."

"I thought I told you to do that later," Harry joked. He grinned, unlocked the door with a few flicks of his wrist and was gone.

* * *

It took the rest of the day just to set up housing for Draco. Harry had struggled to find a place that was within close range to the Ministry and his own house, so that if anything were to happen he could be there to help and the Aurors wouldn't have to go far either; being the secret keeper, Harry would have to be available to show the Aurors where to go in the case of an emergency. Couple that task with finding a place which wasn't under the Ministry's Housing Plan for Victims list and could be kept confidential, and Harry had a late work day.

He'd put off all his meeting that day in his search for adequate housing for Draco and was behind schedule. That hardly seemed to matter, though, when Draco was currently in a holding cell, unable to do much of anything. As Harry swept through files on houses that were available, a thought suddenly struck him. _Why didn't I think of this before?!_ he wondered as he recalled the house Sirius had left to him when he'd died. Grimmauld Place was probably in complete disarray, but it wasn't listed in the Ministry's files and it was already under a Fidelius Charm. Ron, Hermione, and he knew where it was, as well as Kingsley, but they didn't need to know that someone was going to be inhabiting it. _Can a Fidelius Charm be renewed once people know about the house it's cast on?_ That thought brought about another couple hours of research.

Even after work Harry had important things to do, which kept him even longer from sleep. Once he'd eaten, showered, and changed into his night clothes, Harry began working on creating a portkey for Draco, which would allow him to get to Harry's house if he was in danger. It had taken Harry a long time just coming up with what he would use to make a portkey; it had to be discreet, easily accessible, and something Draco would be able to keep with him on a daily basis. _I could use a button,_ Harry thought. _But then he'd have to sew it onto every outfit he wore, and if he lost it, someone else could find it and… that would be bad._

Harry's house wasn't under Fidelius, and as soon as he'd bought it the Daily Prophet had put a picture of it in their next issue, so it was common knowledge where Harry lived. Even so, his house was under incredibly strict and secure wards, leaving almost no way in for anyone the wards weren't already familiar with and those who came with ill intent. The portkey, however, would allow Draco to transport directly into the sitting room, if he could figure out what to use to make it. That was a privilege Harry didn't want just anyone to have. Even letting Draco have that privilege made Harry a bit dubious, but the Ministry had even stricter wards against any sort of travel, excluding their designated Floo connections. Harry thought back to the time he, Ron, and Hermione had accidentally let Yaxley in on Grimmauld Place's secret and made it unsafe for them. Draco had risked his life to save Harry's. Giving him a way out of a bad situation was the least he could do in return, even if he didn't trust him as much anymore.

"I just need to figure out what to use…" Harry searched his room for something that could be used everyday, that wouldn't be obvious or a hassle to keep on one's person constantly. Picking up a pebble he'd kept from the beach Dobby had died on, Harry winced internally and knew he couldn't part with it. He spotted a comb on his dresser and considered it, only to decide it was a bad idea, too. "That could easily be lost as well," he mumbled to himself.

With one more scout of the bedroom, his eye was caught by a silver ring Ginny had returned to him when they'd broken up. It didn't have much sentimental meaning, since he and Ginny were still on good terms. Really, the ring was just something that sat there being looked over as it collected dust. When Harry did notice it, he would think to himself that he could probably pawn it and get a good sum of money for it, but he never did. It would work perfectly as a portkey, but Harry wondered if it would be weird to give Draco a ring.

 _He'll just have to deal with it if he doesn't like it,_ Harry decided as he grabbed the ring. _If it'll save his life, I think he can manage to get over it._

Harry didn't end up going to bed that night until nearly three in the morning. It had taken him nearly an hour just to learn the incantations to enable Draco to wear the ring without activating the portkey, and then another to properly use them. After that, Harry had to test it out by leaving his house, Apparating somewhere near where Draco would be staying, and activating it. The first time he tested it, he'd wound up in the back garden. The second time, in the loo standing on the toilet lid. The third time put him in the pantry closet, which was painful; it was only a small cupboard with a low ceiling and Harry had hit his head on it rather hard.

Finally, after several more failed tests, Harry activated the ring and it put him dead centre in the sitting room. He'd shouted with joy, pumping his fist in the air at his success. Maybe it would be a strange gift to give, but after how much effort he'd put into it, he couldn't back out. He even looked forward to giving it to Draco, now that he could say he'd made it himself. Harry went to bed that night feeling incredibly proud of himself.

The following day Harry was instructed to join Kingsley in his office during the lunch hour. He was hoping that the Minister had good news regarding the arrests of the Malfoys, but he didn't want to get his hopes up. Draco was taking a personal day, so he had no idea how he was handling life on his own. _He's an adult and can take care of himself, Ron would tell me. I need to stop worrying so much._

"Afternoon, Harry," Kingsley said as Harry walked in and sat down in his usual seat.

"Afternoon," Harry replied in kind. "You wanted to see me?"

"I did. I have good news and bad news. Which would you prefer to hear first?"

"The bad news," Harry said with little hesitation. Kingsley offered a tight-lipped smile in return.

"The bad news is that Draco still has to be involved in the trial process. Due to the nature of the case and his involvement, he'd necessary as not only a witness, but the Wizengamot has informed me that he's required to stand trial himself." Harry felt his jaw tighten at this piece of information.

"Isn't there something you can do? I don't want to press charges against him."

"I only have so much power, Harry. I can't tell the Wizengamot to let him off when he was involved in the plot as well. There's no real chance that he'll end up in Azkaban for this. In fact, I can't imagine he'll get more than community service at the most."

"He didn't do anything illegal, though," Harry said, not really understanding why he felt the need to defend Draco so much, just that he had to. "He asked for a job, he got that job, and he's done nothing to hurt me or anyone else since the war. You know this."

"I do. The fact still stands that he agreed to attempt to murder you. I'm sorry, Harry, but I can't stop him from going on trial. You know just as well as I do that he's done very little wrong, and what he did do wrong he only did by force, but the Wizengamot doesn't know that."

Harry really didn't want to argue, especially because Kingsley agreed with him. It just seemed unfair, and he felt that the only reason the Wizengamot wanted Draco on trial was due to who he was, who he was associated with. With a sigh, Harry let go of most of his irritation. There was nothing he could do about it anyway.

"And the good news?" he asked.

"The good news is that we were able to arrest the Malfoys. They're in holding now and both have been interrogated. Veritaserum was necessary, as neither wanted to talk, but as far as anyone can tell, their stories match up with Draco's memory." Harry wanted to point out that he would've known if the memory had been tampered with, since he'd seen Slughorn's altered memory with Dumbledore, but didn't bother. "The maximum sentence is what they're being tried for, and I don't think the Wizengamot will go easy on them."

"What's the maximum sentence?"

"Ten years, for intent to kill. The fact that you are who you are practically ensures they'll get max."

"So we've got ten years before Narcissa gets out and attempts to harm Draco again," Harry said, mostly to himself.

"My, aren't we optimistic?" Kingsley laughed and shook his head. "He's under very good protection, wherever he is."

"That's true. I just know how bad Bellatrix was when she got out of prison. Her time spent cooped up in a cell didn't seem to lessen her lust for blood."

"Yes, but she was always a bit… strange. I'm not confident she wasn't already mad before she went to Azkaban. Not to mention, Narcissa doesn't seem to be 'blood-thirsty.' Just conniving and money hungry." Harry pursed his lips and had to nod in agreement with that. Narcissa wasn't evil, just misguided. "Anyway, Harry, I'd best let you go. Get something to eat. I'll let you know if anything changes."

"I appreciate that." Harry stood up and left the office, hoping that the Wizengamot would be kind to Draco. He really hadn't done anything wrong. _Or at least he came clean before he did_.

* * *

The house Harry had set up for Draco was an absolute disaster. The wallpaper was peeling all over the place, the ceiling was crumbling in even more spots, there were thick layers of dust over the furniture, and it looked like nobody had stepped foot in the place in years.

Harry had explained that it was safe, that nobody knew he'd be here and that he was working on finding a way to renew the Fidelius Charm on it, but Draco had to wonder if there was anywhere else he could possibly stay. Since his parents had been arrested, could he really not live in their house? Even if he didn't want to, it was in much better condition than Grimmauld Place. But Harry had told him that it wouldn't be safe there, and the Minister's orders were precise. He wanted Draco somewhere that no one but Harry could find. Draco supposed he should be grateful that the Minister cared so much about his wellbeing, but it was difficult to do when he was sitting in a house that looked like this one.

In an effort to tidy the place up, Draco had taken a personal day from work. It would take hours and a lot of magic to get even half of the house looking neat, but he was willing to do it, if this was his only option. He'd just finished deep cleaning the bathroom on the second floor when he turned and caught sight of some movement near the doorway. When he turned around fully, there was nothing there. _I swear I… No, it's probably just this house getting to me. It's so dark and dreary._ Draco continued cleaning and put the thought of being watched out of his mind. Harry said no one knew he was here, so why would someone else be in the house?

The same thing happened again, however, as he was cleaning the kitchen in the basement. This time, he saw a small cupboard door shut on its own. It had only been open a crack, but Draco knew he had seen a large, yellow eye peering out at him before the door shut.

"I know you're in there!" he shouted as he backed away from the cupboard, wand pointed directly at it. He hadn't been bad in Defence Against the Dark Arts, but he hadn't been as good as Harry. He thought he knew enough to hopefully fight off whatever was hiding in the cupboard, though. "Come out, if you know what's good for you." Nothing happened. With shaking hands, Draco stepped closer to the cupboard slowly. "If you show yourself now, I won't hurt you," he lied. Still, nothing happened. He wished he'd learned to cast a Patronus, so he could send for help. Then again, if he did there was no way anyone would recognise his Patronus anyway.

Deciding there was nothing else he could do, Draco stomped across the large room and swung the cupboard door open, summoning bravery from out of nowhere. He was shocked and relieved to find an old, leathery looking house elf cowering inside the cupboard.

"Do not hurt Kreacher!" the elf cried as he clutched his head in fear. "Kreacher was curious! No one has come since Master Potter!" Draco stood in silence, taken aback at the sight of the shivering, terrified elf.

Finally, words seemed to come to him once again. "I won't hurt you," he said, in as calm a voice as he could manage. "I was just surprised. I didn't expect anyone else to be here, either." The elf didn't respond to Draco, even though he'd spoken softly to him. _If Mother and Father could see me now, comforting a house elf,_ he thought with disdain. _Though, look where all the rest of their 'training' has got me._ Draco decided it might be time to rethink some of the things his parents had taught him. Nothing good had come from all their lengthy instructions on how a Malfoy should behave.

"Listen," Draco began, kneeling down to be at eye level with the elf. "I'm sorry I scared you. I didn't mean to. What did you say your name was?"

"Kreacher," the elf grumbled.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," he replied. He'd thought about offering a hand to shake, but decided that would be going too far. Being nice didn't have to degrade him at the same time. "I'm a… friend of Harry's. That's why I'm living here now."

"Master Harry has given his house away?!" Kreacher uncovered his face and turned to glare at Draco.

"No, he hasn't!" Draco said hastily. "He's letting me stay here. It's for my protection. He still owns the house." Kreacher seemed to calm down, at that.

"Then Kreacher offers you his services," the elf said as he bowed to Draco. _What a strange house elf,_ Draco thought as he watched the rapid mood swings taking place.

"I appreciate that," he said, disregarding the odd behaviour Kreacher was displaying. "I could really use your help cleaning this place up. It's filthy." Draco had half a mind to ask why Kreacher hadn't bothered to keep up on the place, but held his tongue. It might set him off again, and Draco didn't want to deal with that at the moment.

"Kreacher can do this." The elf stood up straight from his bow, and with a twist of his wrist, the entire kitchen was spotless. Draco's eyes widened. He'd never seen a house elf perform such powerful magic all at once. Even the cracks in the ceiling were gone.

"How did you…"

"Kreacher has been with Grimmauld Place for a very long time," Kreacher explained. "Master Draco will learn." Draco watched the elf wobble up the stairs, looking much more frail than he probably was.

 _Harry could've at least warned me that the house had an elf,_ Draco complained mentally. _I could've avoided that entire scene had he been forthright with the information. I wonder what else he's hiding here._ Draco had the sudden urge to explore the house fully, but decided it would go against the effort to build Harry's trust if he did. Harry had specifically told him that only the basement, ground level, first, and second floors were at his access. The rest of the house was off-limits. Draco would be off to a poor start in rebuilding Harry's trust if he went against Harry's wishes on his first day in the house. _Or any day, for that matter. I'm sure he'll answer whatever questions I have, and if he doesn't there'll be a good reason for it._ Draco desperately wanted Harry to consider him a friend, someone he could trust, but he was beginning to realise that it would involve a lot of unanswered questions.

* * *

The rest of Draco's day went smoothly after he found Kreacher. It hadn't taken long at all for the house elf to clean and repair the levels of the house within Draco's access. After that was finished, Kreacher cooked Draco a delicious, filling meal and washed the bed spread for the bedroom Draco had taken as his own. Draco had taken to sitting in the drawing room, where there were several bookshelves loaded with volumes he'd never read before. Some of them were on Dark magic, and he avoided those, but there were others that piqued Draco's interest.

He'd been fully immersed in a book about the Black family history when the fireplace in the room burst to life with green flames. Startled, Draco dropped the book to the floor, only to find Harry's head forming within the flames.

"Oi, Draco, are you there?" Harry asked. Draco quickly went to kneel before the hearth.

"I'm here," he replied, slightly out of breath.

"How are things going for you over there?" Draco narrowed his eyes.

"Fine. You could've told me you have a house elf living here. I was about to cast a blasting curse before I figured out what was following me around the house all day." Harry took on a confused expression.

"But Kreacher doesn't live there anymore. He went to work at Hogwarts, last I knew."

"Well he's here now. I don't know how I would have managed to make this place livable without his help. The place was falling apart, Harry."

"It's the best I could do with such short notice. I can try and find someplace better for you, but it'll take time."

"That won't be necessary." Draco felt guilty for bringing up anything suggesting he wasn't thankful for Harry's efforts at keeping him safe. "It's… better, now that Kreacher fixed the place up."

"Well good, I'm glad to hear it." Harry paused, then said, "Do you think you'll be coming back to work tomorrow?"

"I'll be there. I just wanted to take a day to work on the house, but that's finished already."

"Excellent. Do you have enough food? I tried to stock as much as I could before I had to get back to work."

"More than enough. Kreacher's kept me fed. How was work today?"

"It would've been a lot better if you were here. Paperwork is piling up around me. I'm glad you're coming back tomorrow, because I can't put off these meetings I've scheduled anymore."

"Sorry," Draco said with a smirk. "I didn't realise my presence would be missed so greatly."

"Well it is," Harry replied shortly, not looking Draco in the eyes. "I have something for you. Would it be okay if I popped over for a minute? I won't be long."

"Sure, I was just reading anyway. Some company would be nice." Harry nodded and the Floo disconnected momentarily. When it flared again Harry's whole body appeared in the hearth, not just his head. "Welcome to my humble abode," Draco said with an overly grand sweeping gesture of his arms.

Laughing, Harry said, "Why thank you, good sir."

Draco motioned for Harry to sit in one of the armchairs and did so himself. "So, you've got something for me?"

"I do," Harry replied with a sheepish smile. "I made this for you." From his pocket he pulled a silver ring and tossed it to Draco.

"You made me a ring?" Draco inspected the silver band. There was a small triangle engraved in it, but Draco wasn't sure what it signified. "Er… thanks, but I think it's a bit early to be asking for my hand in marriage."

"Ha-ha," Harry deadpanned with a roll of his eyes. "It's a portkey. While you're wearing it, if you twist it so that the triangle is facing up it'll transport you to the sitting room at my house." Draco felt his face adjust to the gratitude and confusion he felt.

"I— thank you... You made this? For me?"

"Took me forever, but yeah, I did. This way, if anything happens here and you need an quick escape, you've got a way out." Harry watched as Draco tried to put the ring on his index finger and failed. Draco tried them on all his fingers and it didn't fit any of them.

"It's too small."

"Transfigure it," Harry said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Right…" Draco took his wand and transfigured the ring to fit perfectly on his index finger. He wasn't usually the type to wear rings, or any jewelry for that matter, but it had come from Harry and it was a physical piece of evidence that he cared what happened to Draco. "I don't have any way to pay you back for this."

"Don't bother. I didn't do it expecting something in return. Just… don't hesitate to use it if anything does happen."

"Deal. Though, I was raised with the standard that if one is given a gift, they must repay the favor in some way." Harry scoffed.

"You really don't need to. If you can manage not to agree to any more plans to kill me, that'll make up for it." Even though Harry was joking, Draco felt a pang of remorse twist in his chest.

"I'm really sorry, Harry." Harry sighed.

"Don't be. Nothing happened, in the end, so you've got nothing to be sorry for. But… Well, Kingsley gave me some bad news today. That's part of why I wanted to speak to you."

"What's going on? Haven't they arrested my parents yet?" A note of panic had snuck into Draco's tone as his brain fumbled to figure out what would cause Harry to look so worried.

"They've been arrested, yes, but the Wizengamot wants to put you on trial. They also want you to participate in your parents' trials as a witness. They'll probably want to use the memory you showed me. I'm surprised you haven't received a letter— right, they don't know where to send your post." Harry sighed heavily. "Is it alright if I have your mail sent to my house? I can just bring it to work with me and give it to you then."

"That's fine…" Draco's mind was on the fact that he'd be standing trial. Against his own parents. And then standing trial for his own crimes, whatever they may be. "What are they trying me for?" Harry averted his gaze, something Draco was beginning to associate with his lack of desire to be honest.

"I don't know, exactly. They're trying your parents for intent to kill. I doubt they'd try you for the same thing, because you didn't come up with the plan, but I can't say for sure."

"Wonderful." That single word was loaded to the brim with sarcasm.

"It'll be alright. I'm going to be a witness at your trial, and you can take veritaserum to prove that you didn't want to go through with killing me. Kingsley said that you'll probably be given community service at the most." Harry's look of dedication was enough to convince Draco that he didn't have much to fear when it came to his own trial, at least.

"You'd defend me in court?"

"Of course I would," Harry said, his voice full of bewilderment. "You're the reason this plan failed in the first place. I… I suppose I probably owe you a life debt."

"I actually have to save your life in order for you to owe me a life debt." Draco shook his head. "I didn't."

"Yes, you did. If you hadn't decided not to follow your parents' orders, I would have died. One of you would've killed me."

"Then it's null. I can't owe you a life debt if I was going to take your life in the first place." "You're ridiculous."

"I could easily say the same about you."

Just as Harry opened his mouth to retort, Kreacher popped into the drawing room holding a tray laden with more food than Draco could possibly eat on his own.

"Masters," he greeted the two wizards. "Kreacher has prepared dinner." The elf rested the tray on the coffee table between Harry and Draco, bowed, and then left with another loud crack.

"I guess he wants you to stay for dinner," Draco said as he looked over all the food with hungry eyes. There was a dish of some sort of casserole, peas pudding, a loaf of bread, steamed vegetables, and treacle tart.

"Apparently so," Harry said. "You don't mind?" Draco quelled the desire to tell Harry how lonely he'd felt since being holed up in his cell and simply nodded his head. "This reminds me of dinner at Mrs. Weasley's."

"Why's that? My hair's not turning red, is it?" Draco said in mock panic, running a hand through his hair. Harry snickered and shook his head.

"There's just a lot of food is all." He began filling up a plate, taking a scoop of each dish and cutting himself a large piece of treacle tart.

The two ate in silence, for the most part, sometimes commenting on how good the food tasted. It was the best meal Draco had had since he'd moved out of the manor. When they'd had to give up their house elves because of Granger's stupid law, his father had learned to cook, but wasn't very good at it. Draco remembered, then, that he didn't have the money to pay Kreacher for his services, and was breaking that very law just by having him around.

"Kreacher can't stay here," Draco said, suddenly, once he'd swallowed the bite of broccoli he'd been chewing.

"Why's that?" Harry asked, his mouth full of treacle tart.

"I can't pay him. I've already committed multiple crimes today by having him help me clean and cook for me. If anyone catches wind of it I'll have more than community service to face when I go on trial."

"First of all, the only way someone would catch wind of it is if you or I told other people," Harry explained as he swallowed his food. "Secondly, you're not breaking any laws. Since Hermione passed that law I've been paying Kreacher, even when he left to work at Hogwarts. Speaking of which, I'd like to know why he didn't stay there." Harry frowned momentarily before continuing. "Finally, since this house belongs to me and you're only staying here, it would be me breaking the law, not you. That is, if I wasn't paying Kreacher. No one is breaking any laws."

 _The Wizengamot doesn't think so,_ Draco thought with contempt. He had to admit that what he'd been doing was wrong in nature, but he hadn't actually harmed Harry. Draco didn't feel it was necessary to go to court, but if he were to refrain from doing so he'd be considered a fugitive of the law, and that was far worse than having to do community service.

"Your parents will probably get ten years," Harry said, bringing Draco out of his mental pity party. "Kingsley thinks they'll be tried for the maximum sentence."

"Ten years…" Draco wasn't sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, he was glad they wouldn't be able to hurt Harry any longer, or control him to the point that his life was miserable. On the other, they were his parents. Even if they were a bit fucked up, he loved them. They were the only real family he had.

"Yeah. Hopefully that teaches them not to do this sort of thing again."

"Let's hope." Draco took a bite of his own piece of treacle tart, which was much smaller than Harry's, and did his best to put the thought out of his mind.

* * *

It had taken the Ministry until the day before Draco's trial to send him a letter announcing it. Or, rather, send Harry the letter. He was frazzled and unprepared as the hour of his hearing came nearer. Hardly any work had been done, though he'd tried to focus his brain enough to get things done. He'd only sorted through half of his usual sized stack of papers before the lunch hour, and his hearing was directly after that.

Though Harry was just as busy as Draco, if not more so, he'd still made an effort to soothe Draco's fears. He had prepared himself as Draco's witness, even if Draco hadn't prepared himself. The Wizengamot was, apparently, trying him for intent to kill, and no matter how many times Harry told him there was no way he'd get prison time for his crime, he couldn't shake the feeling that his freedom was limited. He'd blamed that feeling on his anxiety about the situation, but it was still there.

When the lunch hour was near its close, Draco and Harry walked together to courtroom seven. It was short walk, much to Draco's dismay, thanks to the lift that took them nearly to the doors of the room. In the time it took them to get to the courtroom, Draco's paranoia had built to a peak. He stood outside of the room and took several deep breaths while Harry stood patiently beside him. When Draco felt a hand on his shoulder, as he was gathering was the only way Harry knew how to comfort another person, he looked up.

"It's okay, Draco," Harry said stoically. "You'll be fine. This will be over with before you know it."

"Not exactly," Draco countered. "I'll still have to stand witness for my parents' trials."

"Even so, you'll get through it. And I'll be here for you."

Before Draco could really think about what he was doing, he was embracing Harry tightly. To think that not even two months ago they'd been enemies and now Harry was offering him comfort was something Draco could hardly comprehend. But he was glad for it. He didn't have anyone else to turn to in times of need, and although Harry may not consider Draco a close friend, he was treating him like a human being, like he genuinely gave a shit whether Draco was alright or not. It took Harry a moment to return the hug, but Draco couldn't care. At least he did.

"We'd better get in there," Harry said as he pulled away, only a short moment after he'd had his arms around Draco. It would have to be enough, however.

"Right." Draco put on his bravest face, taking inspiration from the Gryffindor accompanying him, and entered the courtroom.

"There you are!" A woman with sleek black hair tied back in a severe looking bun approached Draco, a look of impatience making her face less pretty than it could be, Draco imagined.

"I'm sorry?" Draco asked.

"You're nearly late! Get over to the accused's seat this instant, Malfoy, the hearing's about to begin." She turned and looked at Harry. "And you, go over to the witness' booth. We almost just locked you both out. You're lucky we waited as long as we did."

"Erm, my apologie—"

"Get a move on!" The rude woman pointed them both in their respective directions, glaring after them, if the burning sensation on the back of Draco's scalp meant anything.

Draco took the intimidating seat in the centre of the large, circular room and waited patiently for the Minister to get to his designated chair as well. The Wizengamot stood and waited for their cue to sit back down, and before Draco knew it, the hearing had begun. Looking up, he saw the rude woman sitting down stiffly in her chair among the other members of the Wizengamot. He hoped that their encounter just now didn't sway her even further against him, though the way she'd reacted to him being _almost_ late gave him little hope in that regard.

"Good afternoon, all," Minister Shacklebolt began. "We've called Mister Draco Lucius Malfoy to the stand today due to charges against him, namely intent to kill." The Minister went over the details of the charges, what had supposedly transpired between his parents. "I'd like to call Narcissa Druella Malfoy and Lucius Abraxas Malfoy to the stand at this time."

Draco felt his heart come to a halt as he watched his parents being led into the courtroom by a team of Aurors. Both his mother and father were in heavy chains and had wands pointed menacingly at their backs. Neither of them acknowledged Draco as they were brought to the centre of the room and two chairs appeared for them, these ones with shackles. _Nobody said we'd have our trials on the same day,_ Draco thought in a panic. _What am I supposed to do? I thought they'd have separate trials!_ Looking over to where Harry sat and seeing the expression of alarm he wore, Draco knew he wasn't alone in his lack of information; however, there was nothing he could do but wait to hear what the Minister said next.

"The three of you are being charged with the same crime; intent to kill, as previously stated. As you should know by now, the moment you enter the courtroom during a hearing, you are under oath. During previous questioning, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, you both stated that you had ordered your son to entrap Harry James Potter in a marriage between himself and your son, with the intent to end his life once all links to his wealth had been acquired and signed over to your son. You stated this under the effects of the potion Veritaserum. How do you defend yourselves?"

Narcissa, with an expression of pride perfected long ago, rose her chin and met the Minister's eyes. "Of course we can't defend ourselves," was the unexpected, simple response she gave. No, Draco hadn't thought she would try to lie her way out of this, especially since the Veritaserum had made that impossible, but he hadn't expected her to admit guilt this early on. It was startling, to say the least.

"Mr. Malfoy?" Shacklebolt asked, regarding Draco's father.

"My answer is the same," Lucius responded, not bothering to meet the Minister's gaze.

"Very well then," Shacklebolt said. "So you both agree that you designed this scheme to kill Harry and forced your son to go through with it?"

"We do not," Narcissa stated firmly.

"Please explain."

"While we did invent the plan, we did not force Draco to be involved. He chose to do so of his own free will, though he was less than happy to do so."

"Then you deny that Mr. Malfoy used the Unforgivable Curse, the Imperius Curse, to force your son to continue abiding by you after he changed his mind?"

"I do not."

"Then there was an element of force involved, which implies that he never had a choice to begin with." Shacklebolt turned to the Wizengamot and asked, "A vote? How many of you feel that, with the threat of being cursed, the younger Malfoy had a choice in his decision?" Only a few hands raised from the crowd seated behind the Minister. "And how many of you feel that he had no choice?" The majority of their hands went up, leaving Draco with a sense of hope. _Maybe I will manage to get a simple punishment after all._ "That's settled, then." Shacklebolt turned around and let his eyes rest on Draco, then. "Mr. Malfoy, how did you feel when your mother asked you to get close to Harry, to win his trust, to marry him, to have him write you into his will as heir, and to kill him?"

Draco cleared his throat and said honestly, "I felt terrible, sir. Sick, more like."

"And yet you agreed to it anyway. You procured a job that would allow you to interact with Mr. Potter on a near daily basis. You managed to build trust between yourself and him, knowing what you would have to do. Can you please explain to the court why this is?" And just like that, Draco's hope was dashed. He closed his eyes and attempted to gather his thoughts. _This is it._ _This is when I finally turn against my mother and father…_

When he opened them again, he looked to Harry for strength, appreciating the small smile he was offered. "I didn't feel I had a choice," Draco began, facing the Minister. "Since I was very young I was told that, as a pureblood, my most important duty was to respect my parents, never to disobey them, never to betray them. That's why, when I was sixteen, I got the Dark Mark, even though I knew it would cause others pain, that I was taking on a permanent tattoo which only symbolised evil, hatred, and genocide. My parents demanded it of me, because the Dark Lord demanded it of them. This is why I did all of the things that I've already stood trial for previously.

"Had I gone against their demands then, it would have meant the death of my family, myself included. During this time, and afterward, I watched my father torture people. I was forced to do the same. I witnessed my mother stand by and watch with no sympathy for those whose lives were taken in her home. Again, I was forced to do the same. I watched a madman turn my parents into strangers and I was made to keep my mouth shut, or else I would lose my life right along with the two people I thought loved me most." _And all over the purity of one's blood._

From beside him he heard his mother sniff, which probably meant she was seething with rage. He heard an odd ringing sound begin in his head as he realised the meaning of what he was saying and just how much he felt it was true. It was disorienting, and he felt as though he might vomit, but he pressed on anyway.

"I was ordered to kill the saviour of the wizarding world, someone who…" Draco's words caught in his throat. He licked his lips, swallowed, and tried again. "Someone who I owe my freedom to, and someone I cared a great deal about, though he didn't know at the time." _He still doesn't know._ "And yet, that lingering fear of losing my life held fast. I don't know if I have some sort of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or if I'm just a coward, but I knew that if I went against my parents wishes I could lose everything I had. It took me more than a month to make up my mind completely about what I was going to do, whether or not I would go through with my mother's plan. During that month I made myself sick with the anxiety I felt. My options were lose my parents, my home, everything I had, when most of my life had been given away after the war, or… kill." Draco pushed past the lump that was forming in his throat again. "I've never killed anyone," he whispered. "I didn't want to kill Harry. I don't want to kill anyone." His voice hitched as he began to cry. He hadn't known just how upset he'd still been over this whole ordeal, but now the emotions were coming back to him full-force; his fear of his parents' reaction to his desire to turn against their wishes; his pain from feeling he had no options; his sadness that his parents were who they were; his utter lack of control over his own life.

"That's quite alright, Draco," the Minister said in a soft voice.

Draco stared down at his hands, which were clenched into fists in his lap, and watched his tears drip onto the dark fabric of his robes. In front of a roomful of people was the last place Draco wished to expose his innermost feelings, but at this point he had no ability to prevent the tears from falling.

"A vote?" Kingsley asked. "Who is willing to hear Mr. Potter's testimony?" A pause. "Go on, Mr. Potter. Whenever you're ready." Draco kept his eyes glued on his white knuckles and willed his brain to stop jumbling around so he could at least hear what Harry had to say.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said. "I recently watched a memory that belonged to Draco, alongside Minister Shacklebolt. This memory showed the conversation that took place between Mrs. Malfoy and Draco when she asked him to follow her step-by-step process to take my money and my life…"

Harry went on to explain how he felt as he watched Draco sit there and listen to his mother as though he had no brain of his own, something that was no less painful to hear now than it had been the first time. But then, as Harry described seeing Draco's countenance change when he heard he'd have to kill Harry, Draco found himself crying for a different reason altogether; Harry understood. Harry could tell by a single expression on Draco's face just how much turmoil he'd been in. Of course, Draco had already heard Harry explain all of this, but in less words. Not to mention, at the time that Harry had told him, he'd just been freed of his father's Imperius Curse. He wouldn't hesitate to put the blame on his lack of response on the fact that his brain was still trying to reorient itself.

"It was clear to me that Draco never wanted to be a part of his mother's plot. I don't think he ever meant any harm, even with the things he did in an effort to follow the guidelines he'd been given."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter," Shacklebolt said. "Do you have anything else to to say on the matter?"

"No, sir," Harry replied respectfully.

"Alright, then. Does anyone in the Wizengamot have questions for the younger Malfoy or Mr. Potter?" A silence greeted the Minister's question. "Very well. Who in the Wizengamot considers Draco Lucius Malfoy guilty of having the intent to kill Harry James Potter, beyond a shadow of a doubt?" Draco refused to look up at this point. "And who believes him innocent?" Draco clenched his eyes shut. "That settles that, then. Draco Lucius Malfoy, you have been deemed innocent of your charges."

Draco's head shot up, then, and he looked at the Minister's face. He was smiling down at Draco. When he surveyed the rest of the Wizengamot, he found faces filled with pity, which would normally have irked him, but he was more than grateful for it at that moment.

"Does anyone feel that more testimony is required from the younger Malfoy?" No one raised their hands. "And does anyone object to his dismissal?" Again, the Wizengamot kept their hands lowered. "You've been dismissed, Mr. Malfoy," the Minister said with a mirthful twinkle in his eyes that could rival that of Dumbledore's.

* * *

The Wizengamot had requested that Harry stay for the remainder of the Malfoy trial, though he couldn't see why. He hadn't been asked to provide any further testimony after Draco left. _Perhaps this is Kingsley's way of allowing me to tell Draco about the trial when it's through,_ Harry had wondered.

It was a lengthy trial and in the end both Lucius and Narcissa had been sentenced to nine years in Azkaban, five years probation with a magical limit of fourth year spells on their wands, and six months community service. Harry hadn't thought to ask Kingsley beforehand if there would be other punishments for their crimes aside from prison, but he was glad to see that the Wizengamot was throwing the book at the pair of Malfoys. They deserved it, and this time they didn't have the funds to stay out of trouble, not that Harry thought it would work this time around anyway. They'd expended that card from their hands already.

As Harry entered his department after the trial his eyes fell on Draco. He was seated at his desk with his head buried in the folds of his arms, which were resting on his desk. Harry walked over to the forlorn wizard and placed a hand on his shoulder, as was becoming more regular lately. It seemed a strange way of comforting another person, but he wasn't sure how else to handle Draco. With Ron and Hermione he could easily show his concern for them by hugging them and it wouldn't be strange or uncomfortable. _Not that the hug Draco gave me before the trial was all that bad,_ he admitted. _It was quite nice, actually…_

"Hey," he said softly. "You alright?" A muffled noise came from beneath Draco's arms. "The hearing's over. Why don't you come to my office and we can talk about it?" Draco lifted his head up and shook it.

"No thank you," he monotoned. "We're behind on work." Harry had to chuckle, despite the nature of the situation.

"I don't know if you've noticed, but there's no one else here. The work day is over, Draco. If you'd prefer, we can go to your house. Or mine, whichever would make you more comfortable."

"I think I should just go home."

"I don't know if you should be alone right now, Draco." Harry could understand wanting to be alone with one's thoughts after something intense happened, but he also knew from the look on Draco's face and the way he'd cried at the trial that he was in a bad state. As much as Harry liked to disagree with Ron, Hermione, and the rest of the Weasleys about his 'hero-complex,' he didn't think it would be right to leave Draco to sulk by himself. "Come on, I'll make you dinner and we can talk. Or not talk. Or, if you're not hungry, I have some delicious tea that you might like. Or coffee, if you're in the mood for that. Or some firewhiskey, if you think that might help. It's gotten me through some rather tough times and—"

"Alright," Draco interrupted, standing up. Harry had to hide his grin by pinching his lips together. "Alright, just… stop offering me things. You've done enough for me as it is." He paused for a moment, then said, "Though some firewhiskey would be nice."

"Then firewhiskey it is."

* * *

To Draco's surprise, the firewhiskey was hitting him a bit harder than it normally would. He typically prided himself on his ability to hold his liquor, but tonight it wasn't as easy to do. He'd only had three glasses of firewhiskey and was working on his fourth, but that was all it had taken to open him up.

"I just feel like… I can't believe all of this has happened," Draco was saying, his words slightly slurred. "I didn't think Mother would go to such lengths to stay rich, you know?"

"I don't know," Harry replied with a laugh. "I don't know your mother very well, so in a way I'm surprised and not."

"Yeah, well apparently I didn't know her very well, either," Draco grumbled. "I'm happy she's in prison. Is that bad?"

"No, she wanted you to kill me. I don't think you should feel bad about it. It would be weird if you were upset that she got arrested. At least, I think so."

"Maybe… you're probably right." Draco leaned his head back against the couch and sighed. "My parents are in Azkaban."

"I know," Harry chuckled. "I saw them get taken away by the Aurors."

"Obviously. I just felt like saying it."

"Did it help?"

"No," Draco said as he lifted his head and grinned. "Not at all."

There was a pause in the conversation that Draco probably would've considered awkward had he been more sober. The two wizards simply stared at each other, with nothing to say, as far as Draco was aware. He didn't think Harry had anything particular on his mind, and when he finally did speak Draco was slightly embarrassed.

"You said something at your trial that I didn't expect," Harry stated plainly. Draco waited for him to say more, but he didn't.

"And what was that?" Draco could hardly recall all that he'd said, it had been so spur-of-the-moment. Even if he were sober he didn't think he'd have an easy time conjuring up the full memory.

"You said that you cared a great deal about me," Harry explained. "But we didn't even talk, back then, so I'm confused as to how you could care about me when we'd had no connection other than a rivalry that mainly happened in school." _Did I say that? Shite… I think I did._ "So… care to tell me about that?" There didn't seem to be a good way around the situation and Draco realised that he would have to tell Harry eventually. _At least I've got a bit of liquid courage in me,_ he figured.

"That's a long story." If he didn't at least _try_ to avoid answering he didn't feel he could call himself a proper Slytherin. _Though lately I've been acting like quite the Hufflepuff._

"It's Friday, so we have as long as you need. I'd like to know."

"I've actually cared about you for a long time." Draco admitted, then took another sip of his firewhiskey for strength. That was about as much as he was willing to say, at the moment, about his true feelings for Harry, even with alcohol assisting him. "I did a bang-up job of showing that, for the longest time, because I didn't know that I was gay and I didn't know why I was so angry that you didn't want to be my friend."

"So you liked me." _Of course he can put it so simply._

"Indeed I did," Draco sighed.

"And you still do." Draco desperately wanted to deny this, but he had the suspicion that Harry wouldn't buy it.

"I do," he said, looking away from Harry's inquiring eyes.

"I had a feeling that you might. After the way you reacted during your hearing and seeing your mother's memory I sort of knew." Harry nudged Draco's knee with his own, causing him to look back up at Harry. "I'm not upset that you like me, Draco. It doesn't make me uncomfortable."

"Why ask if you already knew?" Draco had to wonder. "You saw my memory, which I should've known would tell you more than I wanted to, but I didn't feel right altering it to remove parts of what my mother said. If you knew that I like you and you don't care, why bother asking?"

"I wanted to hear you say it," Harry said with a shrug. "It's one thing to be able to assume, but I wouldn't know for sure until you told me."

"You don't feel the same, though, do you?" _Nothing good can come from this question,_ Draco thought a moment after asking. _Obviously he doesn't feel the same; he just found out only two weeks ago that you planned to kill him. He doesn't trust you, so he can't like you._

"I'm starting to, but I still don't know enough about you to make that judgement. I like who you are, as far as I can tell. I enjoy being around you. I think you're funny, smart, and attractive."

It amazed Draco that Harry could be so open about his feelings. Then again, he'd never had parents who forced him from a young age to keep his emotions hidden. _You idiot, he didn't have parents at all,_ he chided himself, thankful that he hadn't said that out loud. The other thing that staggered Draco was that Harry had basically told him he was willing to give Draco a chance to prove himself worthy of his affections. This was the chance that Draco had hoped for, for so long, but had thought he'd never get, and he told Harry as much.

"As much as I hoped I would hear you say those things, I definitely didn't think I would."

"Well why not? I guess, when I first saw your parents' file requesting financial aid, I did dread seeing you again, but that was mainly because I thought you were still the prat you used to be."

"Gee, thanks," Draco said sarcastically.

"It's true," Harry shrugged again. "But since I've gotten to know you a bit, and since I've seen that you haven't changed much from before you exposed your parents' intentions, I've grown to appreciate you as a person."

"Thank Circ for small miracles," he mumbled.

"What was that?"

"Nothing important," Draco hastily said. He felt heat rising to his cheeks and turned his face away, pretending to be more interested in the boring wallpaper of Harry's sitting room.

"I have to say, you're adorable when you're flustered." _Just when I'd thought I couldn't be more embarrassed Harry has to say something like that._

"I should probably go home," Draco said as he stood up from the sofa.

"Did I make things weird?" Harry sounded as though he really couldn't tell.

"No, but if you keep talking like that I'm going to think you like me more than you do." Draco turned to face Harry, feeling a strange mix of emotions, the prominent one being gawkiness.

"What, are friends not allowed to compliment each other?" Harry asked, innocently enough.

"Do you call your Weasel adorable when _he's_ flustered?" Even as he tried to stifle it, Draco was beginning to feel defensive. Harry seemed to be appalled by his question, though, which broke Draco's concentration on how he was feeling as he giggled at the sight of Harry's twisted features.

"God, no! Ron's not cute at the best of times." Harry shivered, as though he'd been tainted by the thought of finding Weasley attractive. "Maybe you're right, though. I probably shouldn't say things like that, even if they are true."

"I am right, and you shouldn't." _No matter how much I want to hear you say them._ Although it was nice to be told that he was adorable, especially by Harry, it didn't mean as much knowing that Harry meant it in a platonic way. _Well, no, that's a lie,_ Draco thought. _It does mean as much, and that's the issue._ "Anyway… I should go."

"Alright, well, have a good night then." Harry smiled at Draco and pointed him in the direction of the Floo powder jar near the fireplace.

"Same to you," Draco said before he left Harry's sitting room for his own.

* * *

 _I probably was being a bit of a berk,_ Harry considered as he ate breakfast the following morning. _Knowing how he feels about me, I should watch my tongue with things like that, unless I've decided I want something more with Draco._

 _But would something more really be all that bad?_ he couldn't refrain from asking himself. Then he shook his head and took another bite of toast. _I can't know for sure until I know him better. He's going through too much right now, anyway, to be involving himself in a relationship. Then again, that's not really up to me, is it?_

Harry sighed. He'd been doing a lot of thinking that morning, and the night before after Draco had gone home. From what he'd learned of Draco so far, he didn't think he would mind being in a relationship with the bloke. Still, he wanted to figure out who Draco was better, especially now that his parents weren't controlling his behaviour. No, Draco hadn't changed much in the couple of weeks since Harry had seen the very telling memory and all was disclosed between them, but that didn't mean he really knew who Draco was. For all Harry knew, Draco was still a raging blood-purist, and that was something he refused to tolerate in a partner, no matter how enchanting they were in other aspects. One of his best friends had suffered through school because of Draco's name calling, and if any part of Draco still felt he could guiltlessly refer to Hermione as a Mudblood Harry wanted little to do with him in a romantic respect. Working with Draco was something he would do regardless, even if he did hold beliefs that Harry thought were abhorrent, but he had a choice when it came to who he involved himself with in more intimate relationships.

Even with all of that in mind, Harry continued to entertain thoughts of what it would be like to go on a date with Draco, to dance in a Muggle club beneath the strobe lights— if Draco would even enter such an establishment— to eat out together and talk about everything and nothing, cook meals for each other, read books together in a comfortable silence, snuggle in the warmth of a cosy bed with the fireplace crackling in the background…

 _I'm too fucking lonely for my own good,_ Harry decided as he finished off his eggs. _This is getting out of hand._ He had an entire weekend left before he had work to busy his mind and he refused to spend it all pining after some nonexistent relationship with someone he didn't know if he wanted to be with.

In an effort to ease his loneliness and stop thinking so much about _him_ , Harry chose to Floo Ron and Hermione. He tossed in the green powder and waited for one of them to poke their heads through the connection.

"You really need to work on your timing, mate," Ron said as soon as his head appeared in the flames. His hair was swiped back from his face and he seemed to be sweating a lot.

"Er… is this a bad time?" Harry asked, not wanting to think about what it was his friend had been doing when he'd answered the Floo. Ron sighed at length, a long-suffering expression on his freckled mug.

"Not anymore," he grumbled. "What do you want?" Harry snorted at Ron's shortness.

"Well pardon me," he said in his best impression of Umbridge, a voice he often found himself using when he was pretending to be offended. "I was unaware that I needed a reason to talk to my best friend."

"You don't, I guess, but we were just in the middle of—"

"I really, really don't want to know," Harry said, cutting Ron off. "Really. Don't finish that sentence."

"I was just going to say we were—"

"Don't tell me!"

" _Moving our furniture around!_ Merlin, Harry, like I would really tell you if Hermione and I were shagging!" Harry laughed, loving the feeling of taking the piss out of his best friend and getting away with it. "You're a knob, you know that?"

"Takes one to know one," Harry countered. "What have you two got planned for this weekend?"

Regaining his composure, Ron replied, "Nothing, really. Want to come over? I'm warning you, though, Hermione might put you to work. She's been reading about 'feng shui' lately, and now she's got a bug up her arse about rearranging the furniture so it promotes health and happiness." Ron rolled his eyes dramatically and wiped some sweat from his brow. "Not sure why I have to move the wardrobe so that it's precisely one meter from the wall sconce in order to be happy, but far be it from me to point that out…"

"On second thought…" Harry said, and smirked at the look of despair that took over Ron's countenance. "Only joking. Be there in a second." Harry closed the connection and tossed in yet another handful of powder, glad to have his mind off of— things he didn't want to think about.

* * *

Similar to Harry's internal struggle was the one Draco was having. No matter how much he tried not to think about Harry he couldn't seem to get him off his mind. Had he really meant what he'd said the night before, that he found Draco to be intelligent, funny, and attractive? _Does it even matter?_ Draco tried to debate with himself. _He doesn't think of me the same way I think of him, and though he says he's starting to he'll probably change his mind as soon as he starts to see who I really am._

 _Fuck, I can't even say I know who I am, these days. I'm not sure I ever really knew._ That thought brought Draco to one that ran a bit deeper than his long-lasting crush on Harry: what sort of man he was, and what sort of man he wanted to be. For the majority of Draco's life, from the time he was able to absorb his parents' views until… well, until very recently, Draco had known himself to be the spitting image of the people who raised him. That is to say, a pureblood, a blood-purist, a member of the highest ranks of the social elites, just to name a few things. He hadn't really wanted to be a Death Eater, though he'd pretended to in the hopes he could convince himself it was the right thing to be. In the end he couldn't even manage that.

What did he truly believe? _Do I really agree with all I was told? That someone's blood could possibly determine their worth? Granger's one of the brightest witches of our time. Not even I can deny that. How could she be, if having muggle parents is so detrimental to who someone is?_ Draco thought about the war, about the Dark Lord's methods of purifying the wizarding world, how he was so steadfast in his belief that purebloods were the ultimate beings that he attempted to wipe the muggleborns out entirely. _How can I keep believing these things, the same things he valued, and still call myself a good person?_ Draco felt his eyes stinging with unshed tears as guilt he'd held back for years forced its way to the surface. _I've done so much wrong in my life. I've hurt so many people, tortured people… How could I? How could—_

As the sins of his past worked their way to the forefront of his mind, Draco was unable to produce a clear thought. He curled himself into foetal position on his bed, letting his tea grow cold, as he experienced an identity crisis that put the one he'd had in sixth year to shame. It was a very long time before his tears stopped flowing, with all the grieving he had left to do. In the span of nearly two years he'd lost everything he thought he'd keep forever. Gone was his family's wealth and status, gone were his parents, and gone was the man Draco had once thought he was. Far from his mind were thoughts of whether Harry could ever learn to love him. First, he had to figure out how to love himself, and as his body shook with sobs he'd pent up for more than four years he considered that he may not ever be able to.

* * *

 **A/N#2: I'm sorry that this chapter ended so sadly, but it's sort of necessary for character development. I promise it'll get better with the next installment. Thanks in advance to those who review.**


	4. Let's Dance

**A/N: Thank you to those of you who are following this story! Adopate, Anonymous, Rachel Kidd and WhisperReview, I appreciate your feedback so very much and I love the enthusiasm! Your reviews have offered me some greatly-needed motivation and it makes me happy that there are a few people out there who really like what I'm doing. I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations! The last one ended on a pretty dark note, so this chapter should make up for that.**

 **There's a quote in here from the the first HP book included in this chapter. It's got asterisks around it. All credit goes to JK Rowling, as I did not come up with the quote.**

* * *

Hermione was acting strangely, Harry realised as he watched her sniff her bowl of porridge and scoot it aside, taking up her tea instead. Perhaps she'd just started disliking the breakfast item, but Harry had noticed other things throughout the previous night that he'd stayed with his friends that suggested there was something bigger at play. She'd been a bit more moody than usual, she seemed to have grown more sensitive to smells, and he noticed that she would suddenly appear to be on the verge of bolting for the loo on multiple occasions.

His bushy-haired friend stood up from her seat, suddenly, and marched towards the loo, leaving Harry and Ron alone and adding to Harry's suppositions. Harry took this as his chance to figure out what was going on.

"Is she alright?" he asked. Ron looked up from the _Prophet_ he'd been reading, a look on his face that told Harry he hadn't noticed anything or heard Harry at all. "I said, 'is she alright?'"

"Oh," Ron set the paper down and sipped his tea. "She's fine." Harry thought there was something off about the level of nonchalance in Ron's tone.

"You're sure? She's been… different, lately. Is she ill, or something?" He didn't actually suspect that Hermione was sick, but with the amount of times she looked like she was about to be, he thought that would be a good question to ask, if only just to eliminate one possibility.

"Well, sort of?" Pinching his lips together, Ron looked into his mug of tea, inspecting it too deeply for his distraction to be genuine.

"Ron," Harry said flatly. "What's going on? You know something, and you're not telling me."

"Oh, just tell him, Ronald," Hermione said as she came strutting back into the room. "He's going to find out eventually."

"B-but I thought you said we had to wait—" Hermione scoffed, promptly cutting off whatever remark Ron was about to make.

"I know what I said, but he's clearly suspicious. He knows _some_ thing's going on." Harry thought he already knew what the two of them were talking about, and the reason why Hermione had been so snippy and sensitive. Still, he sat back in his chair and waited for the two of them to stop bickering and fill him in on their own, sipping away at his coffee.

"Fine, fine." Ron held up his hands in surrender and looked over to Harry. "We're having a baby. Hermione's about two and a half months along." Harry grinned, his smile stretching across what felt like his entire face. _That's probably why she went mental on me over not trying to get ahold of her… That makes more sense._ Hermione wasn't one to go berserk over something so trivial, even if she was hurt by someone else's actions. Harry had wondered why she'd been so hostile with him when she was typically more level-headed and he was glad to know that there was a reason behind her attitude that day.

"Congratulations!" he cried as he got up to hug the both of them. "I had a feeling… But thanks for letting me know. Sorry I ruined whatever plans you had for the reveal." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Since when have any of our plans actually gone accordingly? If anyone was going to find out before we wanted to tell people, it was you." Harry wasn't about to ask what she meant by that, partly because he couldn't tell if she meant to complement or insult him and because she already seemed miffed. He didn't exactly want to push her further. "Just don't tell anyone else, alright? We wanted to let everyone know at once."

"Mum's the word," Harry agreed. "I'm so happy for the two of you. You'll make excellent parents. Well, _you_ will, Hermione. Ron…" Harry hissed in a breath through his teeth. "Not so much." As soon as the wisecrack came out Ron's jaw dropped, his face turned a deep shade of read, and he was spluttering to form some sort of retort. Harry laughed, nearly spitting out the coffee he'd taken into his mouth in the process. "Only joking, mate. You'll be a great father."

Ron pursed his lips and said stiffly, "Thanks." Harry scoffed at his friend's inability to take a joke.

"Oh, come on. I mean it. You'll have just the right amount of sternness with your children that will make sure they behave themselves but you'll always have the lightheartedness that will let them know they're loved." He saw Ron's features soften and offered a loving smile. "And we all know Hermione was made to be a mother," he added. "She's only been mothering us since, what, first year?"

"Basically," Ron agreed with a chuckle.

"I did not _mother_ you," Hermione said defensively. "I was just trying to make sure neither of you got us killed." She grinned and said, **"Or worse… expelled."** The reference to their first year in school together brought the tension down quite a bit, and all three of them laughed heartily.

"I still think your priorities were arse-backwards," Ron said as the laughter died down to giggles. "Why would being expelled be worse than dying?"

"Because," Hermione began, raising her nose slightly to peer down it at her boyfriend. "If we'd died we wouldn't have to deal with the repercussions of our actions. Being expelled would've ruined our chances at getting a proper education and we probably would've ended up separated in different schools."

"You would've loved it, being a Beauxbatons girl," Ron said. "But I guess you're right about the rest." Hermione gave a very self-satisfied shake of her curls and sipped her tea.

The three of them continued to chat about what would've happened had they been expelled and how that could've affected the outcome of the war for a long while, but eventually Harry felt he had to go home. There were chores to be done and he didn't want to eat lunch with Ron and Hermione when they'd already provided him with dinner the night before and breakfast that morning. Even though he'd been away from the Dursleys for so long and hardly had to struggle for a good meal at all since the war, he still had a stigma about eating too much of other peoples' food.

Harry stepped out of the fireplace in his sitting room and immediately his thoughts strayed back to Draco, who had been sitting on the sofa with him, discussing his feelings for Harry, only two nights before. _You're losing it,_ he told himself as he padded to the kitchen and began grabbing ingredients from the refrigerator. _There's no reason why you should have to think about him half as much as you do._ And yet he couldn't stop. He wondered how Draco was fairing, now that his parents had gone to Azkaban and he didn't have their expectations looming like a sword over his blond head. Was he struggling to come to terms with what they'd done, what they'd almost had him do? Was he relieved that he no longer had to do their bidding? Was he lonely, too? _Why should it matter if he is? It's not like you'll do anything to fix that._ Because, really, what _would_ Harry do? He'd already decided that it was too early in their friendship to consider anything more serious, and with Draco having the feelings he did about him, spending too much time with him could give off the wrong impression. One thing that wasn't very different between muggle and wizarding Britain was the strong desire in people to not be involved in misunderstandings that would lead to discomfort of any kind, himself included. If Harry was smart he would spend the rest of his short weekend at home cleaning and catching up on work.

* * *

The morning after Draco's breakdown he awoke feeling a multitude of things all at once; empty, as though releasing the tears he had and reliving the guilt he'd avoided for so long had left him bereft of the ability to feel much at all; sore from the constant tightening and loosening of his muscles as he'd sobbed; and incredibly hungry. He sat up in bed, still wearing the previous day's clothes, and decided to eat before taking a long shower that he hoped would wash off some of the emotional grime that was sticking to him.

As he washed himself, Draco picked up his thoughts where they'd left off the night before. He'd come to the conclusion, eventually, that he didn't believe in blood purity equalling superiority, and that he disagreed with the majority of the things his parents had fostered in him. _I really do owe Granger an apology,_ he decided.

It was strange, the way that he was feeling. On the one hand, he was experiencing immense relief that he was able to make the decision to disagree with his upbringing; on the other, he felt like he was at square one as far as self-discovery went. Layer by layer, he'd stripped himself of all of his perceptions of his own self and the world around him, and in the course of a few hours alone. He had to wonder if he'd ever been right about anything, in the past. There were many things he knew he'd been wrong about, such as treating Harry and his friends the way he had in school, calling Granger a mudblood, acting as though he was better than pretty much everyone else because of his House and intelligence, not trying harder to understand the people around him, and so much more. Most of his mistakes had taken place during his years at Hogwarts, but he also realised that he'd perpetually made similar mistakes even after he'd graduated and moved on with life.

With that in mind, Draco formed a new resolve. _No matter how hard it may prove to be, I will listen to others' perspectives. I will keep an open mind. I will be kind, or at least civil, to others until they've proven I shouldn't be. I will help those who I have the means to help without expecting anything in return. I will accept help when I need it, and I won't be afraid to talk to people I trust when I can't be alone._ His immediate thought following that one was of Harry, and how he was the only person he truly trusted anymore. _I will show him that I trust him, and give him no reason not to trust me in turn,_ he added. _I will be myself, with no fear of punishment._

Fully clean and holding his head high, Draco shut the water off and stepped out of the shower, feeling more refreshed than he had in years and more like himself than he ever had before. After wiping the fog from the bathroom mirror, he stared at himself and didn't feel distanced from the ash coloured eyes staring back at him. Those eyes were now full of strength instead of fear and repression. Somewhere near his sternum Draco could feel something akin to hope lurching. It felt pretty damn good to be hopeful for once, like there was something worth looking forward to on the horizon that was his future. Draco couldn't recall the last time he'd felt that way, and he desperately wanted to continue to, no matter how hard he had to try.

* * *

The first thing Harry noticed on Monday, when he walked into the office, was the buoyant way Draco beamed at him. He didn't think he'd ever seen Draco smile like that, in all the years he'd known him.

"Morning, Harry," Draco greeted him in just as cheerful a tone as the expression he wore. "How was your weekend?" Harry offered up a slightly confused smile in return.

"It was… interesting, to put it simply," he said as he leaned against the raised counter of Draco's desk. "I visited Ron and Hermione, which was nice."

"Yeah? How are they doing?" Reflexively, Harry's eyebrows shot up at Draco's question. _Since when does he care about my friends?_

"Er… they're doing really well, as far as I could tell. It was nice catching up with them… Why do you care?" he asked slowly, trying not to sound offensive. Draco's grin dimmed a bit, but not enough to make Harry regret asking.

"I did a lot of thinking this weekend," Draco clarified, lowering his volume, but keeping his pleasant demeanor intact. "I'll have to tell you about it later, when we're not at work, but that's why I care." The mystery behind Draco's meaning, and what he'd been thinking about, was too tempting for Harry to resist.

"Have dinner with me tonight," he said. "I mean… that is… you should come over and we should talk." Draco snorted at Harry's inability to form a proper sentence as heat spread up Harry's neck and cheeks. Working at the Ministry had helped him improve conversationally, but deep down he was still just as gawky as he ever was, mostly when he'd already put his foot in his mouth.

"I'll have to see if I can pencil you in," Draco quipped as he perused the unmarked calendar hanging beside his desk. "Hmm. Lucky for you, I don't seem to have any plans this evening." Harry rolled his eyes and stifled a laugh with taught lips.

"Yeah, lucky me. Though, if that calendar is accurate, it seems you don't have plans any evening for the remainder of this month, so maybe you're the lucky one, since I'm providing you with utterly transcendent company."

"Oh ho-ho! It seems you've learned some rather large words since our days in school. I'm impressed, Harry." Both wizards stared at each other, eyes glinting with mirth, before bursting out laughing. Others in the office were probably looking at the two of them as though they'd lost the plot, but neither could care any less than they did in that moment.

"You're too sassy for your own good, you know that?" Though he'd been trying very hard not to think about these sorts of things, Harry couldn't help but feel more captivated by Draco when he joked like that. Maybe it was the charming way his eyes narrowed when he knew he was being clever, or perhaps it was the wit behind his remarks, but Harry felt himself wanting to experience more of it.

"One has to be a bit sassy, when dealing with the likes of you." Draco tilted his head to the side a bit and smirked. "Can't let you get too comfortable."

"That seems to be the common theme in my life," Harry sighed. "Anyway, we'd both better get to work before we're drowning in casefiles. Oh, and—"

"Coffee," Draco supplied for Harry. "Which flavoured cream today?"

"Hazelnut, please."

"You know, Harry," said Draco as he stood up from his chair, "For a Brit you drink far too much coffee." Harry chuckled and opened his office door.

"You're not the first person to tell me that, actually," he said before grinning and shutting himself in his office.

It was stupid, really it was, but hearing Draco say practically the same thing Ron had said about his coffee drinking habit made Harry feel like he had pygmy puffs leaping around in the pit of his stomach. This could most likely be accounted for by the fact that it was _Draco_ using a phrase that a _Weasley_ had, but nevertheless, Harry was contented for whatever reason. It really felt like he and Draco were genuinely becoming closer friends, an outcome Harry had never anticipated would ever occur between himself and the once-contemptible Slytherin.

Harry sat down at his desk and started going through the files he hadn't got to over the weekend, making a list of people he could schedule appointments with that day. He had been anxious to get to work that morning so his concerns about Draco could hopefully be soothed, and it made him feel like a berk for worrying in the first place. _He's clearly doing a lot better than I'd assumed he was. I wonder what changed… Guess I'll find out soon enough._

As Harry worked, Draco brought him his coffee and a joke, which helped him stay in a good mood as he prepared himself to Floo a particularly grumpy witch. Eudora Nethercott was in a bad mood when she answered the Floo, as though by trying to help her find in-home care Harry was doing nothing but causing her trouble.

"I apologise for interrupting your breakfast, ma'am," Harry said as he bit back a less appropriate response to her rude greeting. "Last week you'd told me you were busy—"

"I know what I told you, young man!" the old witch snapped.

"And you requested that I try again this week, earlier in the morning so as not to interrupt your afternoon nap," he finished. "Is this a bad time?"

"I'm sure you know it is. You people never have proper consideration for your elders." Nethercott sniffed and then coughed several times into a handkerchief. Harry waited for more, because with her there was always more and if he spoke too soon she would go off on a lengthy rant. Surely enough, after a stretching silence she said, "Well? Better get this over with before I die of old age." _Wouldn't that be a shame?_

"I'd just like to know when you're available for an appointment. Your request for in-home care has nearly expired, and if we don't meet up and get things settled before the end of the month you'll have to apply again."

"Incompetence," Nethercott grunted. "How could you people expect me to apply again? I can hardly hold a quill these days. Incompetent, inconsiderate, incorrigible, insensitive, people your lot are!" Harry wondered if she knew any insulting terms that didn't start with 'in.'

"Right you are, ma'am. Now, when are you available? I'd hate to see you be forced to wait longer than you should have to for the help you've claimed is so _in_ calculable." Harry watched in subdued satisfaction as her eyes narrowed even further than they'd already been, causing them to look like walnut shells. "I'd hate to see your efforts go without proper… _in_ demnity. That would be truly _in_ admissible of me." Again he had to quell his own laughter as her mouth turned down in a scowl that could've rivaled that of Draco's back in Hogwarts. "Seeing as you've claimed to be somewhat of an _in_ valid, I think it's important that I _in_ vestigate matters; however, if you find yourself feeling too _in_ disposed for an appointment with me I'd be glad to Floo you again when you're feeling in better spirits."

"You're a cheeky little shite," Nethercott said. Then, to Harry's immense surprise, she smiled and began chuckling. "I knew you weren't just another Ministry stiff. Come on over, we'll have some tea."

The Floo disconnected, leaving Harry flabbergast at the change in the crotchety old woman. _Who would've thought that giving that old bag a dose of her own medicine would change her regard of me entirely?_ Harry had to wonder if that technique would've worked better with some of the other moody people he'd had to deal with, but he had a feeling it might not go over as well as it had with Nethercott.

Peeking his head out of his office, Harry let Draco know that he'd be out of the office for a meeting and asked if he could have his lunch ready for him when he returned.

"Of course," Draco said with a gleaming smile. "What sort of secretary would I be if I didn't keep you fed?"

"A miserable one," Harry replied before thanking Draco and shutting his office again. He found himself feeling excited not just for the outcome of his appointment with Nethercott, but also for his plans with Draco that evening.

* * *

"How was your meeting?" Draco asked before taking a bite of his salad. It looked like the mixture was mostly carrots, tomatoes, onion, green pepper, and had little lettuce. Harry thought it looked disgusting, but didn't say anything as he ate his own, meatier lunch.

"It went better than I thought it would," he replied with his mouth full.

"Don't talk with food in your mouth, it's making me lose my appetite."

"Okay, Hermione," Harry scoffed after swallowing his food.

Draco rolled his eyes and asked, "Why was it better than you thought it would be?"

"Well, for starters, Nethercott didn't shout at me the entire time. Actually, she was really nice." Harry thought back on how she'd hugged him tightly before he'd left, thanking him repeatedly for being such a kind and caring boy. Once she'd warmed up to him, she'd reminded him a bit of Mrs. Weasley.

"That's good, I suppose. Is she usually not nice?"

"Ha!" Harry laughed sharply. "Yeah, you could say that. Are you still planning on coming over tonight? To talk?"

"I already said I would. Why, are you scared I'll stand you up?"

"Not scared, just impatient. I want to know what you've been thinking so much about over the weekend. I'm curious about what could make you ask about my friends."

"You'll know soon enough." Draco checked the time. "I suppose we'd better hurry up with our food and get back to work." Harry nodded and they spent the rest of their lunch period eating in silence.

* * *

In the sitting room of Harry's house, Draco and Harry sat side-by-side on the comfortable sofa, both of them angled towards the other with their feet tucked beneath them. Draco was sipping on a deliciously sweet wine that Harry had offered him, which tasted as though it was elven-made. It probably shouldn't have surprised Draco that Harry could have such good tastes when it came to his alcohol, but it did. After seeing Harry happily drink butterbeer when they'd gone to the pub together he'd figured Harry hadn't explored the tastes and tones of other beverages enough to know what good wine was.

"Is this elven wine?" Draco asked, taking another sip and letting it rest on his tongue for a moment.

"It is. Expensive as hell, too, so I hope you're enjoying it."

"I am. It's been a long time since I had wine this good. Since we still lived at the manor." Harry made a concerned face and Draco waved him off. "I'm not upset by the memory, if you're wondering. I came to terms with everything this weekend."

"Right," Harry said as he set his glass down. "You were going to explain that, I think."

"Do you want the long, drawn-out version, or the short and sweet one?" Really, no version of this retelling of events was going to be sweet, but he figured he'd give Harry the choice anyway.

"Details, please," Harry said with a smirk that was far too charming for Draco's liking.

For several quiet moments Draco mentally prepared himself to rehash the revelations he'd worked through over the weekend. Harry sat patiently, taking little gulps of his wine now and then as he watched Draco collect his thoughts. Normally when people watched Draco that way he felt uncomfortable and exposed. When Harry did it, however, he had only a mild sense of vulnerability and mostly experienced wonder at how he'd come to the point in his life where it was possible for Harry to look at him that way.

"Alright," Draco said, deciding it would be best to just get it over with. "After I got home from your house on Friday I sort of had an emotional and mental breakdown. Everything I thought I was turned out to be false. Everyone I thought I loved and knew and trusted had suddenly been plucked out of my life." _Aside from you, thankfully._ "And I didn't know if it was okay to be thankful for that, but now I've found that it is.

"When I no longer had Mother and Father's expectations of who I'm supposed to be making most of my decisions for me I had to wonder who I really was. I had to ask myself some incredibly painful questions and then I had to answer them honestly. I don't think I could've answered them any other way…

"I realised that the beliefs I held were some of the same that a murderous madman had carried as well. I mean, I guess I always knew that, but it really struck me this weekend. I realised how fucked up it is to think that I could ever be better than anyone else because of who my parents are, whether or not they were magical. If my parents are so spectacular and imperious— no pun intended— then why would they have me kill you for money? Why would my father torture muggles and muggleborns, if they were so great? Why would my mother allow V-Vol—" _Come on, tongue, we practiced this,_ Draco begged himself. "Vol-Voldemort," he managed, "to live with us, knowing who he was and what he planned to do to our world, if she was really a better person?

"It didn't make sense anymore, once the facts were laid bare and forced into my face. My family, myself included, did horrible things during the war and I was a royal prat in school because of these beliefs. I didn't stop being a prat once I was old enough to know better, either. I'm twenty years old and for the majority of my life I thought it was okay to… to kill someone, based on their blood purity. It's fucked up," he said, laughing without humour. "It's _really_ fucked up, and I don't want to be that person anymore. I refuse to be that person any longer." Draco had been looking down at his hands as he'd confessed these things to Harry, not necessarily fearful of meeting his eyes, but for better ability to concentrate on his words. He looked up and saw that Harry looked reverent. "So, that's why I care how your friends are doing," he finished lamely.

"I'm proud of you, Draco," Harry said gently, the respect on his face still present.

"Don't be. It's past time I realised these things. For too long I didn't even bother wondering if what I'd been taught, what I'd been doing, was wrong." Draco paused and said, "Which reminds me. Could I have Granger's address? I'd like to write an apology to her."

"I'll write it down for you later," Harry said. "I'm more concerned about why you don't think I should be proud of you, when it takes a hell of a lot of strength to change one's mind the way you did. You took the things that were pounded into your head as a kid and analysed them one by one. You decided that they weren't the proper beliefs to have. That's incredible."

"It wasn't really a choice," Draco said sheepishly. "It kind of just… happened."

"And you let it happen. That's something to be proud of, and you can't tell me not to be, because I _am_ proud of you." Draco searched Harry's green eyes for some sort of hint that he didn't mean what he was saying, only to find that it wasn't there. What he found instead was awe and fascination, as well as a touch of admiration.

"Thank you," Draco breathed. "I can't tell you how much it means, hearing you say that."

"I think I already know," Harry said. "I suppose I have a lot to consider now that you've told me all of this."

"Such as?"

"How I feel about you," was Harry's blunt response. "One of the things that kept me from wanting to form a real attachment to you was the blood-purist shite you believed in. I like who you are aside from that a lot, but I didn't want to get into anything serious with someone who still thought one of my best friends was a mudblood." Draco found his disbelief interrupted by a wince at the word he'd used so many time in the past.

"I don't think I could ever call anyone that again," he said gravely.

"And, again, that gives me a lot to think about." Draco shook his head a bit.

"I feel like I understand what you're saying, but I don't want to assume." Harry smirked and breathed a single laugh.

"Why don't you tell me what you think I'm saying and I'll tell you if you're right or not?" _He's testing me,_ Draco thought with narrowed eyes. _Or maybe he really just wants to know…_

"It sounds as though you're starting to like me more than just as a friend. It sounds as though I shouldn't get my hopes up," _too late, "_ and that you'll contemplate something more serious forming between us."

"That's pretty spot-on, actually," Harry chuckled.

"I don't think I can prevent my hopes from raising, I'm afraid," Draco admitted. If Harry could be forthright without fear, so could he. That was one of the things he'd wanted to work on, after all.

"I'm not sure if you'll have to, though I can't promise anything at this point. I'd like to see where this change in you leads to, which would mean the two of us spending time together." Harry took a long drink from his wineglass and looked thoughtful as he slowly swallowed the red liquid. "I suppose work isn't really the best place to get to know someone, though."

"Are you asking me on a date?" Draco asked, only half-joking.

"Probably several, if things work out properly," Harry replied seriously. Draco's heart lunged in his chest and began pumping furiously.

"So… we're dating now?" Try as he might, he couldn't successfully keep all of the anticipation out of his question.

"That's one way to put it." The way Harry laughed gave Draco the impression that he wasn't as calm and collected as he'd originally thought. There was a slight edge of excitement to the sound of it, and Draco didn't think he'd misinterpreted it.

"You're excited about this, aren't you?" he accused playfully, though he felt his own excitement growing at the prospect.

"I… Yeah, I am." At first, it had seemed like he'd deny Draco's accusation. "Part of me doesn't want to tell you that I am, though, in case this doesn't work out."

"Since when have you been the type to pursue things cautiously? There's a risk involved in any sort of relationship, be it romantic or otherwise, so why don't you tell me how you really feel?" Part of Draco's request was simply intended to satiate his curiosity, but the he also wished that Harry would give him more than just hints as to how he felt about him. _I did say I wouldn't expect anything in return from people, so I shouldn't be prodding him to be honest just because I've been,_ Draco scolded himself.

"After what you've told me tonight I suppose I owe you at least that," Harry agreed.

"You don't owe me anything. I don't want you to ever feel that you do."

"That's the sort of thing that makes me feel like I could be with you. You're making so much progress as a person and I can literally feel myself starting to want something more with you, Draco. I'm not being upfront with you because I feel I owe it to you, but because I want to be, so you can close your mouth right now," he laughed. "I like that I can joke with you and you don't get offended like I can imagine you would have when we were younger. You're not vengeful anymore, or rude for the sake of being rude. I can tell you're a kind person and that you want to do better. I'd like to see you do that, and I want to help you do that. Maybe that's a bit selfish, but that's how I feel." Draco had the strongest urge to leap across the sofa and kiss Harry, at that moment, but he held back. He didn't really know if Harry would want that, and it was probably too soon anyway. "You're staring at my lips, Draco."

Quickly averting his gaze, Draco said, "Was I? That's strange." His voice was pitched a bit higher than normally and he flushed in embarrassment.

"You want to kiss me, and that's okay," Harry said softly. "But I want to wait until I've seen more of this—" He gestured at Draco, probably referring to the differences in character he'd claimed, "— before we take things any further."

"I'll begrudgingly admit that's fair," Draco said, attempting and failing to keep his disappointment at bay. Harry was right, though, and he knew it.

"But I will tell you that I'd like to kiss you. Eventually. I just want to know who it is I'm kissing before I do." Draco wanted to point out that they'd known each other since they were eleven, but that wasn't necessarily true. _He knew who I used to be… who I just recently stopped being. I can't rightfully blame him for wanting to be careful in this situation._

"What do you think Granger and Weasel— Weasley, sorry… Old habits die hard," Draco corrected. "What will they think when you tell them we're… dating?"

"Ron's going to think I've gone mad. Thanks for not using that nickname for him, by the way," Harry added with a patient grin. "Hermione… I'm not sure what she'll think."

"Maybe you'll want to wait to tell them until you know for sure what you want." Draco suggested carefully. "I mean, it's up to you who you tell and when you do it, if you do at all. I only meant that it'll probably be easier for you if you think about it more—"

"I know what you meant, Draco," Harry chuckled, then finished off the last of his wine. Draco did the same. "I'll tell them soon enough, but I think it would be wise to wait until you've apologised to Hermione. And then I'll probably space it out until she's figured out how to feel about that."

"You're a smart bloke," Draco said with an understanding nod of his head. "I guess that's part of the appeal."

"Speaking of that, one of these days you'll have to tell me why you like me. But I think that should happen another time. Maybe on our first date."

"Let me just grab a quill and a two-meter long parchment, then," Draco mumbled. Harry's responding chortling was worth the mild humiliation of what he'd just said.

"Because there's so many wonderful things about me," Harry said facetiously.

"You'd be surprised. Though, I won't go into it yet, since you want so badly to suffer in anticipation." Draco thought for a moment before asking, "Where will we go for our first date?"

"Where do you want to go?"

"Somewhere inexpensive." Draco didn't feel comfortable letting Harry pay his way, mostly because he'd done so much for him already, including allowing Draco to live in his other house rent-free.

"We can always be spontaneous and choose later. Why don't we plan something for this weekend? That is, if you're not too busy to see me." Harry's tongue-in-cheek comment brought a snort up from Draco's throat.

"I'm never busy these days."

"Then it's settled. Our first date will be next Saturday…"

The rest of the evening was spent conversing, jesting, being honest, and enjoying each other's company. By the time Draco got into bed that night he wondered how in the hell he'd managed to cause Harry's opinion of him to get that high. _Probably the same reason my opinion of myself is higher,_ he guessed. It made Draco's lungs swell with adrenaline every time he thought of the things Harry had said over the course of the evening. Part of Draco didn't want to believe that he'd really heard Harry say they were dating. _He likes me… he actually likes me._ That was the last thing Draco remembered thinking before he fell into a blissful sleep, filled with dreams of a green-eyed man with the most breathtaking smile.

* * *

"You have saved us, Harry Potter," said Lazareva Pavlovna in her thick Russian accent as she held back tears. "I have not been able to work since my husband passed, and I did not know who will help me. The war was not kind to our family."

The war hadn't been kind to anybody, but Ms. Pavlovna's file was one that had tugged on Harry's heart more than many he'd seen. Her house was not in the best of conditions, though it at least looked more livable than Grimmauld Place had before Draco and Kreacher fixed it up. The cupboards were nearly bare and, from the exaggerated gauntness of Ms. Pavlovna's face and figure, most of whatever food they did have was going to her daughter, Nadia. Their bills were piling up and there was no money flowing in to cover them. In fact there was so little money that, had Ms. Pavlovna's late husband not paid off their house before the war, she would most likely have lost it already.

"It's no problem at all, Miss." Harry had never gotten over his inability to take praise from people he helped, even after the _Prophet_ 's commendations had died down. "This is all part of my job. Mrs. Bankshire is highly trusted in the Child Care And Wellbeing Department and she'll make sure that Nadia is safe and happy while you find work." _And fed, so you can eat more,_ Harry added silently.

"I cannot thank you enough." Pavlovna dipped her head in a solemn bow.

"Knowing that this will enable you to provide better for yourself and your daughter is more than enough thanks for me. If you need anything else, don't hesitate to Floo my office, alright?"

"I will."

Harry left the office that day in an uplifted mood. He'd approved Ms. Pavlovna for childcare and financial aid, the Billburges with specialised in-home care for their autistic daughter so that Mrs. Billburges could work again, and the Halfmoons with financial aid that would allow them to keep their flat. He'd accomplished a lot that day, thanks to Draco's help with paperwork while Harry was out of the office for meetings, and they'd managed to catch up completely on work they'd fallen behind on after the trial. _Days like this are what make my job worth doing,_ he thought as he began cooking himself dinner.

* * *

Sitting at the small writing desk in his bedroom, Draco stared at a blank sheet of parchment. The quill he'd been about to use was hanging over an inkpot, dripping black ink from its tip. What he needed to do was write an apology to Granger. What he was failing to do was come up with the words that would make up that apology. When he'd first sat down he'd had at least a vague idea of what he wanted to write, but as soon as he'd dipped his quill the idea was gone, replaced with apprehension and doubt. _What if she doesn't want an apology from me?_ he wondered. _What if she's moved on, and me trying to make amends only brings back the hurt I caused?_ Draco wasn't worried about being forgiven; that was up to Granger to do or not. Realising he had no control over that, and knowing that he still had to apologise, at least made it a bit easier to confront the intimidating expanse of creamy parchment before him. Deciding he could simply use this one as a rough draft, Draco forced himself to begin writing.

 _Granger_ ,

 _You may not want to hear from me at all, but I can't know for certain that you don't. You may not ever open this letter and read the words inside, once you know who it's from. I can't blame you for that, but I at least have to attempt to make right of all the wrong I've done you._

 _In school I treated you badly, and I had no good reason to. I didn't know you, what you were like, or… anything, really, about you. And I still called you mudblood. I wish I could say that I didn't mean it, but I did at the time. Now, though, I can't tell you how much I also wish I could take all of those times back._

 _You already know this, and I'm sure you have since you first heard about magic, but being a pureblood makes me no better or worse than you, or any other muggleborn. I've just realised, recently, how wrong I was to ever think the otherwise, and it was quite painful to go through the process of finding that out. I probably deserve it, after the times I caused you pain._

 _I want you to know that, even when we were in school and I was horrible, I always thought you were incredibly bright. I've thought of you as one of the most intelligent witches of our time, in fact, and in school it caused me to be rather jealous. That's another reason I treated you so poorly._

 _There is no excuse for the way I treated you. There is no way for me to express fully how much I regret the way I behaved towards you. I know this, and I know that I am not owed your forgiveness, even though I've written this._

 _Hermione Granger, I am so sorry._

 _-Draco Malfoy_

As Draco finished the letter he realised that he had silent tears falling down his cheeks and wiped them with his sleeve. He wondered why he'd been crying so much lately, but he knew that it was probably due to the fact that he hadn't been allowed to cry in years. Even when he had cried, he hadn't really been allowed to. In the course of a week or so, Draco had shed more tears than he had since he was a child. Normally he would've thought of himself as weak for showing such emotion, but now he merely felt relieved. Crying, as Draco was beginning to understand, was actually healing. Being able to feel the sadness and regret inside him enabled him to work through the emotions and come to terms with them.

 _If Father could see me now… Thankfully he can't. Not for ten years. That should be enough time for him and Mother to come to terms with who I am. If it's not, then there's really nothing I can do but keep a distance from them and hope they'll change, too, in their own time._

* * *

Harry was in the middle of cooking dinner when his fireplace burst to life in the adjacent room. Placing a stasis charm on the eggs he was cooking so they wouldn't burn and went to see who was trying to reach him.

"Ron, are you alright?" Harry kneeled down before the hearth and absorbed the aggravation present on Ron's pale face.

"I'm fine, but Hermione's not."

"What happened? Is it the baby? What's going on?" Panic rushed into Harry's veins as he thought of all the horrible things that could be happening to her.

"It's not the baby, the baby's fine. She's really upset, though, and she said she needs to talk to you. Malfoy sent her a letter, but she won't let me read it. I swear, if that twat-brained arsehole said something to her—"

"I think I know what's wrong," Harry said as his frayed nerves settled. "Let me take my food off the stove and I'll be right over."

He did just that, not wasting any time. Apparently Draco had sent his letter of apology. Harry sort of wished that Draco had told him beforehand, if only to give him a bit of warning, but he would deal with the surprise the only way he knew how: step by step.

Upon stepping out of Ron and Hermione's fireplace Harry gathered that Ron had overreacted this time, instead of Hermione. Ron was pacing back and forth, absolutely seething from the looks of it, while Hermione sat at the small kitchen table holding a folded piece of parchment, her eyes only slightly dampened with tears. Harry doubted that Hermione's attitude had changed much since Ron had told him what was happening, so 'really upset' had probably been an overstatement.

"You okay?" Harry asked as he sat down next to Hermione at the table.

"Sort of," she replied in a level tone. "Draco sent me this." Hermione handed Harry the letter and Ron marched up to the table.

"So he's allowed to read it, but I'm not?" he complained.

"You can read it later, Ronald," was Hermione's stern reply. Ron scoffed and walked away, leaving the Harry alone with her.

As he read through Draco's letter, Harry felt his chest tightening with a combination of sympathy and respect. Draco had truly poured his heart out in his efforts to make amends, something he hadn't anticipated. When he reached the end of the letter Harry felt his own eyes watering and could understand why Hermione had cried after reading it.

"I know you've been talking to Draco," Hermione said after taking the letter from Harry's proffered hand. "More than just at work, if the rumours circulating at the Ministry are true. I wanted to know what you think about this." _Of course the other Ministry employees are talking about us,_ Harry thought as he fought to keep his eyes from rolling.

"I think he's really sorry, and I think he meant it when he told me he was trying to be a different man than the person his parents wanted him to be," Harry said. "What do you think about it?"

"I think that… I think—" Hermione exhaled sharply. "I don't really know what to think, Harry. Part of me wants to forgive him, because I can tell that this was sincere. On the other hand, I don't know if I can forgive years of torment with one single letter. I appreciate that he's trying to better himself, and that he's considering me in that process, but… I just don't know."

"That's all understandable. He said he doesn't feel that you owe him forgiveness, though, so I don't think you should force yourself to feel one way or the other, if that's not what you want to do."

"But he took the time to send me this. He said I was intelligent, that he'd always thought so. I know that most of what he did in school to us was inspired by conscious decisions on his part, but I have to wonder how much of it was done in the name of making his parents proud." Hermione rubbed her left eye with the back of her hand and hunched her shoulders as she sighed heavily. "I think about who Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy are and I think about who my parents are, and I pity him. I can't imagine what it must have been like for him, growing up with such cold people. He probably didn't feel very loved, and that likely caused him to feel the need to act out.

"It's not that I don't understand the psychology behind his actions, it's just that I don't know if I'm ready to let everything go," she finished, sounding dejected and forlorn. Harry took her hand in his and squeezed it gently before simply holding it.

"Dumbledore once said that it's someone's choices that show what they truly are," he said in the most comforting way he could. "Draco didn't make very many good choices up until recently, but he is choosing to change now. I don't think he had the ability to change, before. That doesn't mean you have to forgive him, it doesn't mean that you have to be his friend. It's something to think about, though. I know _I've_ been thinking a lot about it. Maybe now that Draco's apologised you can begin to heal from the mental scars he left behind."

"I certainly hope so," Hermione breathed.

"Can I come back in, now?" Ron said from down the corridor. "Or am I interrupting?" Hermione groaned in response to Ron's sarcasm.

"Really, Ron, you need to settle down," she insisted. Ron came back into the kitchen and sat beside Harry. "I'm not upset. Here, take it." Hermione slid the letter from Draco across the table to her sulking boyfriend and shook her head irritably.

"How can I, when you've been attacked by Malfoy yet again? I thought he'd grown up a bit, with what people at the Ministry said, but obviously I was wrong."

"He didn't attack me. Quite the opposite, actually," Hermione said with a note of lingering confusion. "Just read it already."

Ron shot Hermione a dubious look, but did as she said and read through the letter. Harry struggled not to laugh at the changes of expression coming from the redhead; first indignant, then befuddled, then awestruck. That was the final emotion present on his face as he set the letter down and met the two pairs of eyes watching him.

"I'll just come right out and say it," Ron said, sounding much calmer than he had a few moments before. "I _may_ have overreacted. Sorry, love." He gave Hermione a look of contrition. "I can't believe he actually said he was sorry."

"You're forgiven," Hermione returned sweetly. "Now do you see why I had to talk to Harry first?"

"I s'pose so. I still think you should've talked to me about it, though." Ron sulked a bit, then perked up and faced Harry with a skeptical squint of his eyes. "You knew he was going to do this."

"Er, yeah, I said as much when you Floo'd me," Harry said with a restricted smile. "When he came to my house the other night we talked about all the changes he's gone through and he asked for your address so he could send Hermione a letter of apology. Draco had somewhat of an identity crisis, from the sounds of it, but it looks like it's done him some good."

"I'll bloody say," Ron agreed with a fervent nod. "It's overdue, though, if I'm being honest."

"At least he's done this at all," Hermione defended lightly. "I never thought I'd live to see the day that Malfoy apologised."

"Better late than never," Harry said with a shrug. "I'm proud of him."

"I am too," Hermione decided. "It must have taken a great effort to write something like this."

"I'm going to wait and see if he means what he says before I agree with you two," Ron said carefully. Harry had a feeling he was holding back the part where he said he didn't think Draco would prove that he'd changed, but that only meant that Ron was trying. That mattered more to Harry than he could say.

"Fair enough." Harry stood up tp leave. "My breakfast has probably gone cold, so I'm going to head home and make something else. If you need me just let me know."

"Thank you, Harry," said Hermione as Harry leaned down to hug her. "The same goes for you, I hope you know."

"Appreciate it, mate." Ron stood up to receive a hug from Harry as well.

* * *

As Draco got ready for his and Harry's date, he realised he didn't have much clothing anymore. At least, not much nice clothing. Then again, Harry probably wouldn't care. Figuring it wouldn't make much difference, Draco decided on a fancier set of navy blue robes. They weren't as fashionable as he'd like them to be, but with a bit of Transfiguration he'd fixed the hems and added what he hoped was tasteful embroidery over his shoulders and around to the back. Paisley patterns were never out of style, as far as Draco was concerned.

His nerves were getting the better of him, he realised, as he inspected the dress shoes he'd planned to wear. They simply weren't shiny enough. More Transfiguration was required to shine his shoes, as he didn't possess anything else to do it with. Looking over his ensemble in the mirror he'd enlarged to be full length, he groaned in dissatisfaction. Not only was the outfit not up to par, by his standards, but his hair was too shaggy and he noticed a blemish forming near his hairline, so he couldn't brush his hair back like he wanted to.

"Of course I'd break out right before our first date," he grumbled to his reflection. _It's useless, I'm just going to have to go like this._ Draco huffed and left his bedroom to Floo to Harry's house, where they'd decided they'd meet before heading out for the evening.

After scooping up a handful of Floo powder, Draco paused in trepidation. Since he and Harry had decided to date Draco hadn't thought much about this evening, but now that it was upon him Draco was suddenly very tense and anxious. What if everything went wrong? What if he said the wrong thing and Harry decided that he didn't want to continue dating? What if he spilled his food or drink all over, like a fool? There were so many fears flooding Draco's mind that he had half a mind to cancel the date entirely. _I can't do that, or he'll think I don't want to see him. He knows I have no plans this evening, so there's no way out of this._ Really, Draco did want to go, but his composure was crumbling and he couldn't stop himself from thinking this would be a disaster.

"Come off it," he ordered himself. "You're making a huge deal out of nothing. It's a date. That's all it is. It's just a date." His pep talk didn't do much, but he managed to toss the powder into the hearth and leave anyway.

"You're early," Harry said as he stood up from the sofa. "And you look really nice. I think you out-dressed me, actually." Draco took in Harry's simple outfit; a forest green cardigan over a black T-shirt and a pair of denim trousers. _See? He doesn't care how you're dressed,_ he told himself.

"I didn't mean to be early." Draco hoped his voice didn't come out strangely because of his nerves. "Probably should've checked the time before I left."

"It's alright, I was just waiting for you anyway. Why don't we head out? Have you thought of anywhere in particular you'd like to go?"

"Not really, no, but I am hungry." Harry led the way to his front door, not seeming anxious in the slightest, and the two of them left together.

"Why don't we go out to eat and then I'll surprise you with something after that?" Draco nearly asked what the surprise would be, but it would defeat the purpose of being a surprise if Harry told him. For all he knew, Harry was referring to the kiss they'd discussed earlier that week.

"That sounds good to me," he said, attempting to keep his emotions from seeping too much into his words. Harry seemed to notice anyway, and he slowed his pace to walk beside Draco and took his hand. This was a change of pace that Draco had only hoped for. He hadn't actually expected Harry to make the first move, in reality, but it was comforting enough to allow Draco a bit of needed tranquility.

"There's no pressure, alright? I don't want you to feel as though you've got to impress me, or anything. We're going on a date, which isn't much different from the time we went to the pub together, only this time the intentions are a bit different." Harry's calmness was catching, and Draco found himself leaving his worries behind. He was right, after all, and there was no real reason to be afraid. That was something the Draco he was trying to stray from would do, fearing something that he knew would ultimately bring him happiness in the end. Whether or not this date led to anything more, he had the feeling he and Harry would continue to be friends.

"I needed to hear that," Draco said with a sigh. "Thank you. I guess I built this up in my mind, like I always do. It's not necessary."

"No, it's not. How about we Apparate to the Tilted Eclipse? Maybe getting some food in you will help you relax better."

Draco agreed with a sheepish grin and and the two side-along Apparated to their destination. In the years since the Tilted Eclipse had been opened, Draco had never eaten there, though he'd heard nothing but excellent reviews about the service and food. If he'd been the one to pick where they ate he doubted he would've thought of it. That was another thing about Harry that Draco liked: he was good at switching things up from the norm. Draco just hoped that the restaurant wasn't too expensive, as he'd only brought ten galleons along with him for the evening.

The interior of the restaurant was reminiscent of his classmate's descriptions of Trelawney's classroom, but without the sickeningly overpowering smell of incense people always spoke of. The walls were draped with storytelling tapestries, silky fabrics with intricately dyed designs, and there were piles of cushions in some of the corners of the place, where witches and wizards alike sat together, laughing, drinking, and chatting amicably. It could've been the atmosphere of the place, or maybe the way Harry's hand squeezed his before he went to talk to the hostess, but Draco felt his muscles slacken and his jaw unclench as his confidence grew.

"Right this way, gentlemen," the hostess said as he led them to an empty table near the back of the restaurant. As they walked through the place Draco noticed that there was some bewitching music playing softly. It sounded as though it could be Dhrupad, which was strange as that was the oldest genre of Hindustani classical music and wasn't popular in this region in the slightest. "Here you are. Can I get you anything to drink before you start?"

"Merlot, for me," Harry said as he took up his menu.

"Sauvignon Blanc, please," Draco requested.

"Shall I bring the bottles over for you, then?" Harry looked to Draco for his opinion, and Draco shook his head. He didn't intend to get drunk on their first date.

"No, thanks. Just one glass each."

"Of course. Your server will be with you shortly."

"There's something I wanted to talk to you about," said Harry as he looked over his menu with eyes narrowed in contemplation.

"What's that?"

"Your letter to Hermione. She received it this morning." Draco felt his neck tighten as he remembered what he'd said in the letter. In the end, he'd sent the first draft he wrote, deciding that it wouldn't be as genuine if he were to rewrite it over and over. Even so, he hadn't been satisfied with what the letter entailed, but he didn't think he ever would be, with how much he wanted to say and how much he could fit into a reasonable message.

"How did she take it?"

"Really well, I think. Ron was being a git, at first, but that was before he read the letter, too. I think you did a really good thing, Draco, and I think it shows that you're truly growing as a person. Hermione was really touched, but she's confused about how to feel. She's not sure she can forgive you, but I could tell it meant a lot to her just to read your words and know that you regret the things you've done." _She'll never know how much I do,_ Draco thought.

"If the only result of my sending that letter is that she's able to heal, that's enough for me," Draco said as he opened his own menu.

"I enjoy hearing you say things like that," Harry chuckled. "It's a nice change from the boy I used to know."

Draco wasn't really sure how to respond from that, other than blushing against his will. The hostess brought their drinks around and the two men decided on the meals they'd order. The roasted duck sounded delectable, but he didn't want to eat too heavy of a meal, in case Harry's surprise included a lot of walking around. Instead he settled on the ravioli dish they offered.

"Good afternoon, you two, my name is Hildi," said a petite brunette who'd approached, as she pulled a notepad from her apron. "I'll be your server today, so if you need anything just give a shout and I'll come 'round. Have you decided on what you'd like to order?"

"Yes," Draco said after Harry's glance his way. "I'd like the Basil Chicken Ravioli Carbonara."

"Alright," she said slowly as she wrote on her paper. "And you?"

"I'll have the Roasted Sherry Duck," Harry supplied.

"Perfect. I'll have your meals shortly. Is there anything else I can get you while you're waiting? Bread sticks? Onion rings?"

"I'm fine, thanks," Harry and Draco said in unison, causing them to pause and then chuckle.

"Again, if you need anything, just call." The waitress left them alone, then, to wait for their food.

"I've never eaten here before," Draco said, giving them something to talk about. "I hope the food is as good as people have said it is."

"Oh, it is," Harry insisted. "I've eaten here a few times and I've never been disappointed. I don't normally eat duck, but they make it so well that I've ordered it the last two times I've come here."

"Oddly enough, I was going to order that before I decided on the ravioli. You'll have to let me try it. I actually do love duck, so I'll be the judge of whether it's good or not," he said with a smirk. "Have you told your friends about us yet, or are you still waiting?" _Perhaps that was too forward… Too late now, I suppose._

"I'm going to wait a bit longer. Although, they might wind up hearing about it through the grapevine, if the glances we're getting are anything to go by." Draco took a moment to look around them and noticed that, yes, people were pretending not to stare at them and failing miserably.

"Would that upset you?" he had to wonder.

"It would upset Ron if he found out before I'd told him; he'd think I was keeping things from him. Merlin forbid I keep anything to myself," he complained. "But if that does happen I'll explain why I didn't tell him. He'll understand. I think after reading your letter he's starting to come around to you— as much as he possibly can without spending time with you enough to see who you are, now."

"That's good to hear," Draco said with a grin he couldn't hold back. "I mean, that's… understandable. I don't need him to like me, but it feels nice knowing that he may not hate me as much as he used to. Maybe one day he won't hate me at all— not that I'm hoping for that, or anything." _Think before you speak, idiot._

"If things go well between us then I'm sure he'll have the chance to make that decision. I can't say for sure that he will, but chances are he'll at least have to put up with being around you from time to time."

" _That's_ wonderful," Draco sneered a bit. "I don't want to force your friends to be around me if it's that unbearable."

"They'll get over it." Harry sounded uncaring, but his eyes had hardened a bit.

"What's wrong?" His instincts were telling him that something had upset Harry, but he didn't know what.

"I just think it would be sad if Ron was too stubborn to let go of the past. I'd like it if my friends could just be happy for me, and I think that Hermione would try to be, but I have a feeling Ron will be more difficult to reason with."

"That would be sad, but I think we'll live." Really, Draco would prefer that, if things did go well, Harry's friends accept him, but there was no way to enforce that. It was pointless to worry about; no matter how much Draco changed or how much he tried to appeal to them, ultimately it was their decision to befriend him or not.

"Here comes our food now," Harry said as he looked off towards the other end of the restaurant. Their waitress was levitating two heaping plates of food towards them, a trail of steam following their wake.

"Good, I'm starving."

"Here's your order," Hildi said cheerfully as she set their plates down. "Do you need anything else while I'm here?"

"No, we're fine. Thank you, it looks delicious." Harry offered her a smile and she walked off. "Here," he said as he sliced off a piece of his duck and handed the fork to Draco. "You try it first."

In his attempt to take the fork from Harry, Draco realised that he didn't intent to let him eat it himself. Harry kept the fork moving towards his mouth and Draco opened it, feeling tingles coming up his spine at the gesture.

"Oh my," Draco said with his mouth full, forgetting that he found it unappealing when others did it. The duck was too good for him to care, the flavour too distracting.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" Harry asked, looking satisfied that he'd proved his tastes worthy of Draco's commendation.

"Mhm!" He swallowed the last of the bite and moaned softly as the lingering tastes stayed with him. "I should've ordered that. Do you want to try mine?" Without waiting for Harry's response, Draco spooned up a ravioli and brought it to the other man's lips.

"Wow," Harry said, also not bothering to swallow before speaking. "Maybe we should switch plates," he joked.

"I wouldn't be upset with that," Draco agreed. And so they did switch plates— after Draco tried his own dish and decided Harry's was indeed better— something that Draco had only seen couples doing in restaurants and had never done himself. For some reason it seemed like such a simple thing when he watched someone else doing it, but when he and Harry did it he felt like it was a milestone in their new relationship. _I'm probably overthinking it,_ he told himself. _Not that it matters; I get a melt-in-your-mouth duck. That's the important part._

There was little conversation as they ate their food. Both men were completely focused on the meals before them. Draco had never tasted duck so palatable and he savoured every bite. Now and then one or the other would make a sound that translated to something like, 'bloody hell this is good,' probably. It didn't go past Draco's notice that every time Harry did it his eyes rolled back in food-inspired ecstacy, and he couldn't stop himself from wondering if he made a similar expression during other moments of ecstasy. _Get your mind out of the gutter before you make a fool of yourself, yet again._

* * *

To Harry's surprise, Draco paid for the entire meal. Harry had insisted upon leaving the tip because of that, but he had to admit that it was nice to be spoiled for a change. During his relationship with Ginny he was the one to pay for most of their outings. Not that he really minded, but again, being in the opposite position was refreshing.

"Alright, now that you're fed, why don't we have some fun?" Harry suggested.

"I thought we already were." Draco sounded genuinely confused, which made Harry laugh.

"We were, but I had something _more_ fun in mind. Do you like dancing?" At the top of the list he'd made in his mind of the things he wanted to experience with Draco was dancing, even though Harry wasn't particularly fond of it himself. He knew of a few nightclubs in muggle London that he really enjoyed going to, however, and he thought Draco might, too.

"I don't mind dancing," Draco said with a frown. "It's not really fun, though. It's too measured and boring."

"I'm not talking about the sort of dancing you probably did during your pureblood parties," Harry explained. "I'm talking about a different kind of dancing altogether."

"I don't know how to do any other kind of dancing aside from traditional, but I'll try it." The smile Draco offered him was one Harry intended to see more often, if he had his way.

"Good."

Taking Draco's arm, he side-along Apparated them to his favourite nightclub, Indigo Jive. The outside of the club was nothing special, sort of dingy looking in fact, but after Harry had paid their cover charge and they'd gone in he watched in amusement as Draco's jar dropped.

"What is this place?" he asked, having to shout above the booming techno that was playing. Harry watched as Draco's pale skin was tinted by the many different coloured laser lights, his grey eyes turning only a slightly darker shade.

"It's a nightclub," Harry said loudly into Draco's ear.

"Why is everyone bouncing? It seems repetitive."

"That's the sort of dancing muggles do in places like this. We don't have to do the same thing, though. Watch."

Harry dragged Draco out into the thick of the dance floor. When he stopped them he turned around to see that Draco had a look of terror on his face. _Maybe this wasn't a good idea, after all… No matter, I'll try and see if I can't get him to loosen up._

"Dance with me," he shouted to Draco, and began moving his body to the beat that could be felt vibrating through the rubber soles of his shoes. Draco's lips moved, but Harry couldn't hear him very well because at that same moment, the bass in whatever song was playing got twice as loud. He took Draco's hands in his and moved his hips and arms in rhythm to the music, hoping he could get his stiff dance partner to join in.

After a moment of what looked like pure torture for Draco, he seemed to give in and started hesitantly swaying to the beat of the electronic song. The muscles in Draco's multicoloured face began relaxing as he moved in time with Harry, copying his movements with more grace than he could ever conjure up in himself. Harry began smiling hugely and was rewarded with just as big a grin.

Then the crowd moved in, suddenly, and he and Draco were pressed together between so many bodies that it would be impossible to get out without causing harm to people they would push out of the way. But Harry didn't want to leave; he was quite content to dance like this, pressed against Draco's body— and the bodies of lots of other people, which was less pleasant than the former, but still manageable. Harry's hands moved to Draco's hips, then, and he blamed it on the adrenaline that was always produced in him at clubs like this, but somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that it was also something he wanted to do. Draco put his hands on Harry's shoulders, probably not knowing what else to do with them, judging by the flash of confusion he expressed. That look was gone in a heartbeat, though, and was replaced by an elated smile. _That smile,_ thought Harry. _I don't think he really knows just how gorgeous he is._

Draco's eyes were on Harry's lips again, and this time Harry thought he was ready for the kiss he clearly wanted. He leaned up just a bit, thanks to the fact that Draco stood several inches taller than him, and kissed him. It wasn't hard to feel the way Draco froze, not when they were pressed so closely together, but a split second later Draco's arms were wrapping tightly around Harry, pulling him even closer than they were already. Harry returned the gesture happily and was sucked in mentally by the sweet sensation of Draco's mouth against his, opening and closing as they snogged.

The music took a break, and Harry ended the kiss, though he was taken aback at how much he was loath to do so. Even spending the last couple minutes of their dance floor experience snogging, Harry was parched and sweaty and wanted to take a moment to cool down at the bar.

"This way," he said as he took Draco's hand again and brought him to the bar. "Two Juniper Slings," Harry called to the bartender, who nodded and took his money before getting their drinks.

"What's a Juniper Sling?" Draco asked, scooting his barstool closer to Harry's.

"Fucking delicious," he answered. "Don't worry, you'll like it. If you like gin, that is."

"I've never had gin before, so I'm not sure if I do or not."

"If you don't like it, I'll drink yours and you can get something else." The bartender set their drinks down in front of them and Harry took a long sip from his glass. "It's been too long since I had one of these."

"This is really good." Draco drank half of his glass in one or two gulps and Harry's eyes widened.

"You may not want to drink it so fast, the alcohol content is really high in these." Draco waved him off.

"I've had firewhiskey stronger than this. I'll be fine. This is really, _really_ good," he said before taking another deep swig. "Plus, this is the only one I'm having tonight, so I'm going to enjoy it." That was fair enough, Harry thought as he downed the rest of his drink as well.

The next portion of the night was spent back on the dance floor, and this time Draco had fully relaxed into the atmosphere of the club. As Harry watched his dance partner shake and gyrate his hips to the music he felt more connected to him than he had before. The carefree aura around him was intoxicating, it a way, and Harry could hardly keep more than a foot away from him at the best of times. They danced for hours, stopping every now and then for an ice water or two, only to get right back onto the dance floor again. By the end of the evening, both men were utterly knackered. They left the club leaning on each other and giggling as they caught their breath.

"I don't know if I've ever had that much fun in my life," Draco said, half laughing, half gasping in the fresh night air.

"Then you've been missing out," Harry chuckled and bumped his hip into Draco's. "I'm sad the night has to end so soon."

"So soon? It's nearly two!"

"True, but I had such a great time with you. We'll have to do this again soon." Draco agreed with a fervent nod of his sweaty head as the two of them ducked into an empty alley.

"One last kiss before we go?" Draco asked softly, sounding a bit timid. Harry smiled and offered a kiss as soft as Draco's words, but with none of the timidness. The feeling of Draco sagging slightly against him and cupping the nape of his neck was better than the adrenaline of the nightclub, any day. When they pulled apart, Draco had a dopey glaze to his eyes.

"You really are adorable," Harry chuckled. Stepping away further, he said, "Well, see you Monday. Don't get splinched on your way home," and was gone with the twisting blur of Disapperation.

* * *

 **A/N#2: My apologies for this chapter taking longer than it normally would; my world is a bit hectic currently. Not to worry, though, as I do intend to continue posting as regularly as I have been (give or take) and to write this story to completion. I hope that everyone likes this new installment! Feel free to review :)**


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